Phantom of the Opera
by Angel of Writing
Summary: Christine's life rewritten what would have happened had she made different choices? And what consequences do these different choices have? Rated T for violence and romantic stuff.
1. Start a New Life

**The Phantom of the Opera**

**Start a New Life**

**T**he Popular Opera was beautiful. It stood large and proud in the skyline of Paris. Its magnificent marble columns and large windows gave it a grandeur that Christine had seen in a building before. Here she was – standing in front of her destiny. Thank God that her mother's best friend was the ballet teacher there – they wouldn't have let her stay there if it had been otherwise.

"Would you like me to help you with your bags, ma'am?" asked the driver.

Christine smiled at the kind old man. "No thank you," she said, picking up her two small suitcases. "I can manage."

She walked up the stairs carefully and entered the house. It was amazing. The shining marble floors, the grand marble staircase in the foyer. The incredibly detailed gold statues that stood about took her breath away. The heavily velvet-draped windows.

"Christine!" came the shout. Christine snapped out of her amazement and looked to see Ms. Giry and her daughter Meg coming to greet her. Christine set her bags down and gave them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"You look beautiful," said Ms. Giry, placing her hands on Christine's shoulders and looking her over. Christine felt good to see her again. The last time that she had seen her was a day before the funeral. She looked the same as ever, just older. Her long brown hair was as healthy as it had had been, not a speck of gray showing. She still wore all black, though. Black hair pins, black dresses, black panty-hose, black shoes. That, Christine thought, would never change. She and Meg had been the best of friends, but then they came to the Opera House, leaving her alone with her uncle and aunt.

"How have you been, Christine?" asked Meg, picking up one of the suitcases. She also looked older. Meg was a few months younger than Christine. Her long blonde hair was held back by a single white ribbon, and her large blue eyes were the echo of her mother's. They followed her mother up the stairs and even higher up, into the dormitories on the other side of the House.

"I've been doing pretty well," said Christine, noticing at how the scenery had suddenly changed. They went from beautiful marble to plain wood floor and walls, spiraling steel staircases, cold and barren.

"So," said Giry, turning to her quickly, "You've come here for a reason."

"Yes," said Christine, noting every turn they took, trying to remember what stair to take, what turn. It was easy to get lost, and there were many shortcuts and passageways in an old Opera House. "I've got some things that I want to do around here."

"Like what?" asked Meg, turning to her, her eyes wide in excitement. Giry's eyes weren't as excited.

"Well, I want to be a singer," said Christine, blushing at the thought. She had never spoken the words aloud before. "Plus, I have some originals that I want people to hear, too."

"Original operas?" asked Giry. Her eyes were criticizing. "That you wrote?"

"Yes," said Christine. "I have one large opera put together, but I have too many individual songs to count. I started the opera after father died. I haven't quite finished it yet, though."

"Being a singer is going to be hard enough for you," said Giry, leading her into a room. "Wait until the time is right, and then we shall see. Meg will give you a tour later, and you will meet the manager, Mr. Lefevre. You came at the perfect time, child. There are rumors that we are receiving a new patron and two new managers. Now may be the time to prove yourself. Now, this will be your room. You can fit it to your liking."

Christine looked around at the small room. It had a view of the city, glowing with light. It had a small bed and dresser for her, covered in clean sheets, and a large mirror standing on the opposite side of the room. It was as beautifully decorated as the statues in the foyer, and it seemed to glow on its own. She sat the suitcase on the bed, and Meg did the same.

"I'll be back in about an hour," said Meg. "I'll give you the grand tour then. Mother, can she come watch the rehearsals for _Hannibal_ tonight?"

"If Christine wants to," said Giry, giving her that ever-knowing look that now sent chills up Christine's spine. It really was staring to get scary. "But let her know to beware of Carlotta."

"Carlotta?" asked Christine, "Isn't she the leading soprano?"

"Five seasons," said Giry, rolling her eyes. "God help us if she's here for another one."

"I guess leading ladies can be a bit of a trial," said Christine, smiling to herself. It was good that she had done a little research about the House before she came.

"Hah," laughed Giry dryly, "Big voice – big trial. Be ready for Meg in an hour. Rehearsals are already beginning, so make sure you get there as soon as possible. You have practice to do, Meg. The ballet has been doing horribly lately."

"Yes Mother," said Meg. "I'll see you soon, Christine."

Giry and Meg walked out of the room, leaving Christine alone. She began to sing one of the original songs from her opera. It was called 'All Falls Silent', the title song of the play. She started to unpack her clothes, placing them in the dresser drawers, and leaving all of her notebooks on top of the dresser. She couldn't leave those behind – they were her life. A breath cut across her neck. Someone was in the room with her, listening to her, but it was nothing unusual. She had always felt that presence when she sang.

Christine paused for a moment, taking deep breaths, singing the highest notes of the song with ease.

"Who was your teacher, Christine?" asked a voice from behind. Christine gasped and turned to find that it was only Giry. She smiled at her and picked up a cane from her bed. "Who was your singing teacher?"

"I never had one," said Christine shyly. "You see, when my father was in the hospital dying, he told me that he would send me and angel to guide and inspire me. An Angel of Music. He's been everywhere, listening me and coaching me how to sing. It's so odd, because in this room, I can tell there's someone here besides you and me. Listening."

"You have a great teacher, then," said Giry, giving her an odd smile. Christine couldn't tell if it was sadness, jealousy, pity, or happiness. "I must be going. I will see you at the rehearsals." With that, Giry walked out the door. Christine went back to putting her things away, and the feeling that someone was watching eventually faded.

Then, a thought occurred to her. Maybe the phantom of the opera was watching her. Maybe he was the angel that her father had promised.

"You ready?" It was Meg. It had already been an hour? Christine turned away from her dresser and shut all of the drawers. She quickly put the suitcases in the closet and brushed herself off.

"Let's go," she said, turning to Meg. She was dressed in a dancer's outfit: a top that just covered her shoulder and bosom, her stomach was completely showing, and there was a long flowing golden dress. She also wore ballet shoes, and her make-up and hair were already done. "That costume is beautiful."

"Well, it has to be," said Meg, grabbing Christine's hand and dragging her out of the room. Christine shut the door behind her and followed Meg.

The tour was amazing. She led her through the entire upper deck, showing her the way up to the roof, the places were the different props were used, and where most people stayed when they weren't working on a production. The upper level was a big maze of props, winding stairs, ropes and wood. But when Meg showed her all of the level and she knew where everything was, Christine saw that it wouldn't be that hard to navigate. There was still that chance of getting lost, though.

They made their way back down to the foyer, and Christine was astounded when they entered the actual theater. It was beautiful. Filled with three hundred red-velvet lined seats, the golden boxes hanging up above. The stage was enormous, and on it, there were people dancing, and a piercing note reached Christine's ears. Carlotta. She had a voice. An elephant prop was behind her, and a group of women came marching onto the stage, singing.

Meg led her up to the stage and joined the dancing girls. Christine found her way over to Giry through the crows of people.

"This is amazing," she said in awe, staring around the backstage. There were dozens of ropes hanging above, people watching from above. There were many people watching from behind, dressed, and some just getting their costumes altered before the show. The production still wasn't for a few weeks, but it seemed, as frantically as they were performing, that it was only a few days away.

"This is nothing," said Giry plainly. "Wait until we get to the final rehearsals – that will be even more rushed."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Christine. She didn't like standing in the background doing nothing. She felt the urge to do something. "Anything?"

"There is one thing," said Giry, smiling at her. "I need you to bring Mr. Lefevre. I need to speak with him about something. He's somewhere backstage."

Christine nodded. She hoped she could find him – he was the current manager, but from what Giry had said, there were going to be two new ones. He had to be the only one in a suit. Christine fought her way through the crowd of people, bumping her way through, getting several questioning glances. Finally, she spotted an older man in a gray suit sitting in a chair. He looked as if he was sleeping. Christine gently woke him.

"Mr. Lefevre," she said softly, shaking his shoulder. He jolted awake, looking at her.

"Mmmm, what is it?" he asked. "And who are you?"

"My name is Christine Daae, sir," she said of the talking people. "Madame Giry wants to see you."

"Are you new? I've never seen your face before."

"Just arrived, sir. Come with me, Ms. Giry wants to speak to you."

"Giry always wants to talk to me about something," said Mr. Lefevre, following Christine as she found her way back to the stage. Giry smiled at her when she saw her, and walked to meet them.

"What is it, Giry?" asked Mr. Lefevre dryly.

"I wanted to introduce you to Christine," she said. "She is going to be living here in the dormitories with us. I've talked to you about her before."

"Ah, yes," said Lefevre, taking a longer look at her. "Is she going to be yet another of the dancers?"

"No," said Giry, "She's going to be our official critique. Watch our play and see how she likes it. She's also going to help me with the girls."

"A helper? That's all?" asked Lefevre. "Why do you call attention to something as miniscule as this?"

"Just remember her name," said Giry, smiling mischievously. "That's all I ask."

"Fine," said Lefevre. "Wait? Daae? Isn't that the name of the famous violin player?"

"I'm his only child, sir," said Christine. "He died ten years ago."

"You must have some musical talent?" said Lefevre. "Do you play any instruments?"

"Piano, sir," said Christine, "And I sing a little bit."

"It's good knowing that we have someone who has connections," said Lefevre. "Good job, Giry. I appreciate the news." Mr. Lefevre waved good-bye and walked off, heading up the center aisle out of the theater.

"He's an odd one, Christine," said Giry, turning to her. "But he is a good manager. I don't blame him for leaving though – after all Carlotta's put him through. Come now, you must help me."

"What am I going to do?" asked Christine. She knew nothing of ballet.

"We do practice alone, in our own room near the dormitories. We need someone to sing the words so we know the beat of the music," said Giry. "Don't be afraid to use the voice you've got."

This was all too good to be true. But it was all happening. Christine sighed.


	2. Let the Dream Begin

**Let The Dream Begin**

**W**ould you like me to take you back to your room?" asked Giry, turning to Christine after rehearsals were over.

"No," said Christine. "I want to do some exploring on my own. Just get to know the place a little better."

"Fine," said Giry. "Just be careful. Don't do anything to upset the Opera Ghost. We try to keep him pleased."

"Don't worry," said Christine, smiling. "I won't do anything to upset him."

Giry smiled and walked away, leaving Christine, still surrounded by the magnificent props that were to be used in _Hannibal_. She walked around the backstage, looking at the different beautifully detailed golden costumes. She went down a staircase and saw a doorway that said CHAPELLE on the arch.

Christine went own the stairs, deciding to light to candle for her parents. She had taken the first in achieving her dream, and she hopes that they would be proud of her. She went down the long, stone staircase and arrived in the small chapel.

The stone walls were decorated with hand-painted angels. Close to her was a small shrine with two steel racks that held twenty candles each. On the opposite side of the room was a large, colorful, stained-glass window with the shape of a white angel surrounded by beautiful colors. Next to the window stood a large grand piano.

Christine suddenly felt the urge to play. She walked to the piano and sat down on its small bench. She hesitated before her hands touched the keys. She had the sudden feeling that someone was watching her. Christine quickly glanced around, but saw no one.

Christine tested the keys and found that the piano was surprisingly in tune. She played the song 'All Falls Silent' lightly on the piano and then began to grow in confidence and began to sing. Her voice bounced off of the walls, sending back an eerie echo that made even the piano sound odd.

"All falls silent when you've gone, my world goes black when I'm alone. In the darkness of my mind, you're the only one that sheds light. The only one…..the only one for me. So tell me – why did you leave?"

Christine looked down at the keys and saw that their were tears falling onto them. She had always cried during this song, whether she wanted to or not. It had been so long since she had seen or heard the voice of her parents, and it still so hard to say goodbye. So many things had happened to her after they had left that she had wanted them to see.

Christine took a deep breath and played one last chord, and looked up at the ceiling. "Christine, pull yourself together. You've got so many things to look forward to. Let the past go."

"Christine.." it was soft and gentle. Barely audible, but it was there. "Don't cry……sing your past away."

Christine looked around in amazement. Maybe it was the Opera Ghost – or maybe it was her father. But he was right – the only way to forget the past was to fill your mind and forget about it. She would fill her mind with song.

* * *

That voice in the chapel was beautiful. He had heard nothing like it before. It was so genuine, as were the tears that he could se on her face. He stood just above the piano, looking down at her from one of the vents. She was beautiful, but he had never seen her before. _Christine_. The name would forever be with him.

She obviously knew how to hear and feel the music if she knew how to play it and create her own song. The lyrics were deep, coming from her heart. The notes that she sang she hit not out of practice, but out of sheer inspiration. He could tell the difference. There was such a difference between the trained and exercised voice of the despicable Carlotta to the inspired and haunted voice of Christine.

She would grow to love him – with time as they sang together in this haven. He would have to show her that she would have to overlook this horrid face of his. The face that had made him hated by everyone and that had gotten him trapped in the deep darkness of the Popular Opera. The face that had led even his mother to despise him.

Christine would understand.

* * *

Christine couldn't sleep that night. Thoughts of her father and the voice from above in the chapel kept running through her head. She rose from her bed and grabbed her notebook. She needed no light to see her way in the darkness. She had always seen well in the darkness.

Christine finally arrived in the chapel without waking anyone. She light a small candle for her father once again and sat at the piano, thinking of how to finish it. She wanted a happy ending, just like she did for herself. Her character, Brooke, would have the happy ending she deserved after all the horrors she had been through. She was going to find the man that she loved and stay with him. His name was going to be Erik.

Christine wrote down the name before she could forget it. Erik. So she began to write the last song in her opera. She sang it quietly, and heard occasionally, the voice say a line in reply, and would write it down. He was the voice that inspired her.

Over the next two weeks, Christine went down to the chapel every night to finish the last opera. The voice always came back when she did, was always there to give her insight and spoke to her softly. The soft voice even crept into her sleep occasionally. Whoever this man was, whatever he was, he was also creeping into her heart.

His lyrics matched the deepness of hers, and he could understand what she writing about. He understood her pain and her joy. She prayed that for one time, she could find the one man who would finally feel and hear and live the music as she did. If it be the Phantom – so be it. Christine loved him nonetheless.


	3. Hannibal

**Hannibal**

**T**he final day of rehearsals had just begun. Ms. Giry had been right – it was chaos. All you could hear was people singing, the orchestra playing, and people going through the script of the play over and over, praying that they didn't forget their lines.

Christine stood beside Giry as they listened to the piercing notes that Carlotta threw out. Christine had finally gotten used to her voice, and could now actually understand her heavy Italian accent, though she wanted to slap her for her arrogance. Christine listened to the music, mouthing the words she had been helping the girls with for eight weeks already.

Then, the music stopped, and everyone stopped what they were doing. Mr. Lefevre walked onto the stage, leading two men behind him.

"Mr. Lefevre," said Mr. Reyer, the maestro, putting down his baton, "Can't you see that rehearsals are going on?"

"Forgive me," said Mr. Lefevre. "But I have an announcement to make. I know you have all heard rumors of my imminent retirement. And now I say they are all true. I am pleased to introduce you to the men who now own the Opera Populaire: Mr. Richard Firmin and Mr. Gilles Andre. You may have heard of the recent fortune that they have amassed in the junk business."

"Scrap metal, actually," said Andre. He was a short man, about Christine's height, with short gray hair and a bushy gray mustache. Christine smiled. The other man, Firmin, was much taller, and his wavy brown hair was covered by a top hat. He was very skinny, and his mustache took up most of his thin face.

"And we are very honored to introduce you to our new patron," said Firmin, "The Vicomte de Chagny."

Christine watched as a handsome young man walked on the stage. He wore a fine suit. Christine knew that face. That long, straight brown hair and those warm brown eyes.

"It's Raoul!" she said to Meg beside her. "Before my parents died – at our house on the beach. I guess you could ay that we were childhood sweethearts. He called me Little Lotte."

"Christine, he so handsome," said Meg. Christine couldn't believe that he was there. He hadn't seen him in so long. It was a relief to see an old friend.

"My parents and I are proud to support all of the arts," said Raoul. He seemed so much older and more mature now. Ten years could do a lot. "Especially here at the world-renowned Opera Populaire."

Carlotta approached them, doing her normal I'm-so-good act. Andre took her outstretched hand and kissed it.

"Signora Carlotta Giudicelli, our leading soprano for five seasons now," said Lefevre. Piangi, Carlotta's love, and opposite in the play, cleared his throat. Lefevre took notice. "And Ubaldo Piangi." Piangi bowed.

"It's an honor, signor," said Raoul. "I believe that I'm keeping you from your rehearsal. I'll be back tonight to share in your great triumph. My apologies, monsieur."

Christine's hopes soared when Firmin, Andre, Lefevre, and Raoul passed by. He wouldn't have recognized her. It had been so long since they had last seen each other.

Meg had apparently seen the hope on her face and tried to comfort her. "He didn't see you." Christine smiled at her attempt. She was right.

Reyer then continued with the music, and the ballet girls took off. Giry went to the new managers and grabbed them. Christine watched from her place on the side, playing the backup piano. Only the one song needed the two pianos, and she was the only one there who could play it.

She played gently, watching Giry lead the managers out of the way of the dancers. No doubt telling them how good their ballet was. 'It's the pride of this Opera House' she had preached to Christine for the past eight weeks.

All of a sudden, Christine noticed Carlotta approach Andre and Firmin. "Crap," she muttered to herself, stopping the music. This wasn't going to be very good.

"Allora, allora, allora," she said, speaking to Lefevre. Christine rolled her eyes and turned to face them. "I ope your patron is as excited by dancing girls as your new managers, because I will _not_ be singing!" Carlotta rushed off, yelling orders at her maids. Christine swore if she ever became like that, she wanted someone to shoot her.

"Principessa, bella diva," shouted Andre after her. Carlotta turned, getting exactly what she wanted.

"Si, si," she said.

"Goddess of song!" shouted Firmin. It was true – if they lost Carlotta, they had lost the star of the play. Andre then turned to Reyer.

"Mr. Reyer," he said, "Isn't there a marvelous aria for Elisa in act three of _Hannibal_?"

"Yes, yes," said Carlotta. "But I ave not my costume for act three because SOMEBODY not finish it. And, I ate my at!"

"Would you be willing to oblige us with a private rendition?" asked Andre. They were groveling. It was nearly essential to have Carlotta. No wonder Giry didn't like her. "Unless, Mr. Reyer objects…"

"No," said Carlotta, putting her hand to her forehead, pretending to stop herself from crying. She smiled. "If my managers command. Mr. Reyer?"

"If my diva commands," said Reyer, walking to his podium above the pit. Carlotta had a sudden mood-swing.

"Yes, I do," she said. She walked to the center of the stage and continued yelling. "Everyone must be very quiet! You! Over there! You too!"

"Miss?" asked Reyer when he was ready. Carlotta had to take a spray of her 'boxy' as she called it.

"Maestro," she said.

Christine walked to Meg, who was now standing at the side of the stage, listening to Carlotta starting to sing the song. It was a beautiful song, and Christine had heard it, like the rest of the play, enough to know every word. She even knew the notes well enough to play the entire thing on the piano.

Then, one of the back drops cam crashing to the ground, landing right on top of Carlotta. Christine felt the urge to laugh, but held it back. Reyer and the rest of the crew rushed over to her, asking if she was alright and to help get the heavy material off of her.

"Buquet!" yelled Lefevre to the upper-deck where Buquet was the main man in charge of the scenery, "Where are you, man!"

Buquet came rushing to his post and started immediately to lift up the drop. "Don't look at me," called Buquet, "I wasn't at my post. No one's there – but if there is…well, it must have been a ghost."

"He's here: the Phantom of the Opera," whispered Meg, beside Christine, looking around, bewildered. Christine watched as Andre warily approached Carlotta. She wanted to laugh even harder, but couldn't.

"These things do happen," Christine heard Andre say sheepishly. That wouldn't cut it for Carlotta.

"For the past three years, these things do appen! And did you stop them from appening! NO!" Carlotta then rounded on Andre and Firmin, "And you two. You two are as bad as im! 'These things do appen. Until you stop these things from appening, _this_ thing does not appen! Ubaldo! Adiamo!"

With that, Christine watched as Carlotta shoved her way out of the theatre, followed by Piangi and her maids. Reyer was groaning. Christine knew that he was always very involved and hated it when things went wrong.

"I have a message for you, sir," Christine heard Giry say. It looked like she was holding an envelope. "From the Opera Ghost. He welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to leave Box Five empty for his use. And he reminds you that his salary is due."

"Salary!" shouted Firmin. "His Opera House!"

"Mr. Lefevre used to give him twenty thousand francs a month," said Giry, throwing her hair back casually.

"Twenty-thousand!" exclaimed Firmin.

"Perhaps you can afford more with the Vicomte as your patron?" asked Giry. Christine loved her dry humor.

"I hope to make that announcement public tonight when the Vicomte was to join us for the gala. But now it appears that we have lost our star!"

"There must be an understudy," said Andre, looking to Reyer for assurance.

"There is no understudy for Carlotta!" exclaimed Reyer, putting his hand to his head in his usual dramatic style.

All of a sudden, Christine felt Giry's hand on her shoulder. "Christine Daae could sing it, sir," she said. Christine looked up in shock at Andre and Firmin. What was she talking about? "She has been taking lessons from a great teacher."

"Who?" asked Andre. Christine gave a nervous half-smile.

"I don't know his name, sir," she said.

"Let her sing for you," said Giry, pushing Christine gently forward. "She has been well taught."

Christine looked back at Giry as she was ushered forward by Andre to the center of the stage. She looked back one last time as Reyer began to play the aria. Then, she began to sing.

"Think of me," she sang softly, remembering the words and singing them with even more power. The whole time, she was thinking of all the Phantom had taught her. "Think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try…."

Before she knew it, Christine was being whisked off to makeup and being dressed in Elisa's fabulous gown, the jewels being put into her dark brown hair. Next thing she remembered, she was out on stage, in front of hundreds of people, continuing where she had left off.

When she finished the cadenza, and had hit the highest note with ease, the cheers she received were enormous, and she couldn't count the number of flowers that were thrown on the stage for her. It was surreal that she had finally gotten the chance to show the world her voice. It was all thanks to the Phantom. He was the one who had helped her.


	4. Angel of Music

**Angel of Music**

**W**hen the play was finished, and she could leave, she snuck her way down to her haven in the chapel. She sat, still in the dress, and lit a candle for her father.

"Bravo, bravo, Christine," said the Phantom gently. She knew he had heard her. It was nearly impossible not to. Christine's attention then went to the door of the chapel. Meg had appeared there.

"Christine," she said, smiling, "Where have you been hiding? You were perfect out there. I wish I knew how you did it."

Christine smiled at Meg. She had done a great job out there dancing. "Meg," said Christine. It was about time that she told someone of her Angel of Music. "Whenever I came down here alone to light a candle for my father, ever since I've come here, there's been a voice from above, and even in my dreams. See, when my father died, he told me that I would be protected by an Angel of Music."

"Christine, do you really believe that the spirit of your father is coaching you?" Meg looked suspicious, but Christine know what she was talking about. There was no doubt in her mind that the Phantom was the Angel of Music her father had promised her.

"Who else? Who else would be coaching me, Meg?" Christine looked around, still sensing that he was there. "Whenever I sing, I can sense him. He's here, even now. He's inside this room, and he calls me softly, somewhere, hiding."

"Christine," said Meg softly. Christine could barely hear her. She could feel his presence growing stronger.

"He's my Angel of Music," said Christine as she let Meg lead her up the stairs. "He's my guide and guardian. My secret angel."

Meg led Christine to her mother, and Giry led Christine away. She led her into the dressing room that was Carlotta's, but now had become hers. There were flowers sitting everywhere in the room. Alone, on the table, sat a lone red rose.

"You did very well," said Giry, turning to Christine with the rose in hand. Christine noticed that it had a black ribbon on its stem. "He is pleased with you."

She must have meant the Phantom. Christine already knew that he was. Giry left the room, fighting away the people that begged for Christine and left her there alone. Christine sat at the small vanity table and looked at the room around her. Everything was so beautiful. She couldn't believe that she was there.

* * *

It had to have been Christine, Raoul thought as he fought through the crowd to the dressing room where she had to be. He remembered when they had been smaller and she had always sang to him. Little Lotte was what he used to call her. He know remember the poem that he used to recite to her almost day in day out. Now, her voice was beautiful, as was she. In ten years, she had changed dramatically.

"Ah, Vicomte," shouted a voice. Raoul turned to see that it was just Firmin, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"I believe we've might quite a discovery with Miss Daae," said Andre, beside him. Raoul nodded, wanting to see her as soon as possible. "Perhaps we cold present her to you, dear Vicomte."

"Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind, This is one visit I want to make alone," said Raoul, taking the flowers from Firmin to give to Christine. "Thank you."

Raoul opened the door quickly and placed the flowers on the empty table beside the door. Raoul smiled as Christine smiled at him. She must have recognize him. "Little Lotte let her mind wander. Little Lotte thought, 'Am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins or shoes. Or of chocolates?"

"Those picnics in the attic, and father playing the violin," said Christine. Her blue eyes were as clear and big as ever. Her dark brown hair was tied back, just staying out of her face.

"As we read to each other dark stories of the North," said Raoul.

"No," said Christine, her eyes meeting his. "'What I love best,' Lotte said. 'Is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head.'"

Raoul hugged her. It was great to see her once again after so long. So much had changed, and it felt good to have such fond memories from his childhood reborn once again. "You sang like and angel tonight."

Christine's eyes were bright and anxious as she spoke. "Father said: 'When I'm in heaven, Christine, I shall send the Angel of Music to you.' Well, father is dead, Raoul. And I have been visited by the Angel of Music."

"Oh, no doubt of it," said Raoul, standing. He was so anxious and glad to see Christine once again that she could hardly stand still. "And now, we go to supper."

"No, Raoul," said Christine, looking back up at him from her seat. "The Angel of Music is very strict."

Raoul laughed. Please. An angel that gave her commands? "Well, I won't keep you up late. I'll order my carriage. Two minutes, Little Lotte."

Raoul walked out of the door, his hopes and heart soaring.

* * *

Who was this fool? He was trying to take Christine from him. He had been wanting to act – to show Christine who he was, introduce her to his world. Now, he decided was the time. When the fool left, he quietly made his way to the dressing room door and locked the door, so that Christine could not get out. He didn't want her to leave before he could get to her.

The Phantom made his way quickly through his many passageways throughout the opera house to the one door that led to the mirror inside the dressing room. His spell on her was growing stronger, and she was falling for him. He waited until Christine was just about to open the door, when the candles went out. Perfect. Now was the time to take Christine.

"Insolent boy! He's basking in your glory! Ignorant fool! Sharing in my triumph!" he shouted from the tunnel. Christine turned around, and he could see the fear and awe on her face.

"Angel!" she exclaimed. "Speak – I listen! My soul was weak, please, forgive me! Enter at last, master."

"Flattering child, you shall know me," said Phantom, making himself barely visible in the mirror. "See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror – I am there, inside."

He opened the mirror, letting Christine enter. Her hand lightly grasped his, and he led her through the tunnel. To his eyes, it was dark and damp, filled with rats, but he didn't want her to see that. To her mind, he knew, the tunnel was filled with golden candles lighting the way. She would see the way things were, also with time, but for know, his spell was strong, and she could not resist.

He was inside her mind.


	5. The Music of the Night

**The Music of the Night**

**H**e could hear her voice in his mind as he led her deeper and deeper underground. To his home beneath the opera house. When he finally realized that she was singing, he was taking her across the lake, pushing the boat along in the River Styx of his. There was no going back after this.

"Sing, my Angel of Music," he beckoned her, Christine's voice sang a beautiful melody, her voice going higher than ever before. "Sing for me!" Her voice went higher and higher, taking him to heights he had never been before. She was the one.

They finally arrived at his kingdom of music. The dark, mysterious kingdom that was his life. Christine knew of the darkness he embraced, the inspiration that you could take from the darkness. The inspiration that he now received from her.

Christine followed him as he held her hand without saying a word. She asked no questions, just listened as he spoke softly to her.

"Listen to the music of the night," he said softly. "Just listen. Let the music fill your soul. You've been waiting to come here, and now you are here with me, where you belong to be."

He led her around, showing her his life – the music that he lived for. The awe and wonder on her face made him glad. He knew that in her heart Christine understood everything he showed her, because it was what she lived for, too. The two of them had too much in common not to be together.

He drew her closer, feeling her breath mingle with his, smelling her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. The warmth that he had always wanted to feel. He laid his gloved hands on her body, wishing that he could feel them without the protection of the gloves. He could feel every curve of her body, could feel every breath she took as she pressed her body against his. He grabbed her hand and placed it to his face. Her hands were so soft against his skin. Her long, slender artistic hands. The hands that had written such beautiful and haunting melodies that had stolen his heart.

He had made her a dress which she would wear the day they were to married. He had made it with love, not stopping until he was finished with it, and every detail in the white satin and lace was perfect.

He took her up the stone embedded stair in the rock surrounding them passed the organ that he had spent so much of his playing, and up to one of the many alcoves in the cave. It, like the others, was decorated with hanging satin and red velvet. He lifted the curtain covering the dress, and he nearly laughed when she fell into his arms, unconscious.

"You're the one, Christine," he whispered to her ear as he carried her to his bed. It was in the of a golden swan, in another alcove just above the one with the dress. This one was also heavily draped, and he cast a quick look at the table beside the bed. There sat his music box. The small monkey that sat on top, happily clanging the two cymbals together to the soft melody that the box played.

He gently touched her soft cheek as he walked away. She was there with him, finally. She was so young and innocent, yet so mysterious and wise beyond her years. If she believe that no one understanding her made her an artist, she wasn't anymore. Now, the truth of her artistry, the truth of her writing, the truth of her soul was that _he_ understood her, and he alone ever would.

"Good night, dear Christine," he whispered. "Let the Angel of Music fill your dreams."

* * *

Christine rose and heard a faint melody playing. She looked around, and saw the stone that were covered by yards and yards of material, and small trinkets and tables scattered around the room. On the table nearest the bed she had been sleeping on, Christine saw a small music box playing. The small monkey perched on top of the mahogany box was charming, but there was something odd about the way it had a slight smile on its nearly human face.

The dream she had had must have been real. There was no way that she could have imagined that man and the place that he had taken – brought – her to. The linens, the walls, the light around her was much too detailed and tangible to have ever been a dream. The mist had been too wet, the lake too real beneath her in the boat.

The man. Christine also remember a man in the boat. The man with the enchanting voice. As she recalled him, she saw the mask that had covered the right half of his face.

Christine walked out of the room and found that she was on a ledge that overlooked a misty lake, sitting near the land was the same boat that she remembered. There were still many, many candles lighting the dark space. So, if the boat and lake were real, the man had to be, too. Christine looked around and saw an organ. Sitting on the bench was a man. It had to have been the masked, mysterious man from the night before.

She had finally met her Angel of Music and was ecstatic. She had never felt so inspired to write and sing as she had the night before. As she walked slowly toward him, she could recall his soft touch and the adoration in those clear blue eyes. Whose had been the face in the mask, she wondered to herself as she grew closer. She saw him shift and turn his head away as she reached out her hands.

Christine gently caressed his soft cheek, and took a hold on the mask. Yet, something told her to stop. A line from 'All Falls Silent' ran through her mind. 'It is his decision to make, not mine. The man behind the mystery will reveal himself to me, in time.'

So be it. She would leave her Angel a mystery until he felt the time had come. She felt his jaw tighten as she hesitated with her fingers near the edge of the mask. She smiled gently at him when his eyes caught hers, and she caressed his face once again before letting her hands fall.

Christine sat beside him and placed her hands on the organ, striking the first note of her opera. She would let his keep his mystery and dignity. If something horrid lay behind the mask, when she saw it, she would always know that there was a soul behind it that understood everything she was.

Christine stole a look at him while she played the soft melody, and the adoration that she saw in those eyes took her breath away. She paused for a moment, then regained her composure and continued. As she sang, she could tell that the Phantom wanted to know the words to the song she was now singing – the song that begged her parents to come back, the song that made her feel her father's touch again, the song that brought so many happy memories from her childhood back.

Once again she sang for him – the man who may have always remained a mystery to her. As she sang the song and knew that he couldn't be speaking, Christine heard his melodic voice inside her head, telling her to sing and let her spirit soar. Finally, Christine finished the song, but her hands and mind wanted to play more. She had music inside of her.

The Angel had put it there.

* * *

He loved her – that was all he could think. Her songs, her melodies, her voice, and her eyes. Those blue eyes that had such sadness and longing in them. He had heard the song once before – when they were down in the haven of the chapel. But in one night, so many things had changed.

She had found him, felt his love. All had heard her voice, and all would be out to hear it again. And that fool. The one that was trying to take her away from him. He wouldn't let her be taken away from him.

The Phantom looked down and watched the hands that had caressed his face so lovingly fly across the keys with the same tenderness. He had come so close to being exposed. Within seconds of his love seeing the distorted face that he hid from the world. He knew that sometime, she would have to see it. But then, the thought sprang into his mind, had stopped her from taking the mask? Her fingers had lingered on the edge of the mask, and he knew that the thought had crossed her mind. So why not do it?

As he thought, so many things passed through his mind. The beauty of Christine's voice, and the thought of her seeing his face. She would surely scream and run from him. He couldn't risk that tragedy. He had already put so much into shaping her. But, what if he revealed his face now, while she had her curiosity peaked and her love was kindled.

He had made his choice. He turned away from her, and slowly peeled off the mask. The blood rushed through his veins as he turned toward her, waiting to hear her reaction. He waiting to hear her horrified scream, yet it never came.

The Phantom opened his eyes that had been shut in anticipation and saw Christine's face. Her blue eyes were clouded with tears that now ran silently down her soft cheeks. There was a slight smile on her lips. Was she not afraid of the hideous face that he had spent his life hiding from the world?

Love swelled within him as he felt Christine's hands gently caress the horror that was the right side of his face. Her hands gently stroked his face, and he couldn't believe it. She should be horrified – frightened of what she saw.

To his shock and disbelief, Christine placed a soft kiss on his cheek. He felt the tear roll down his cheek. She had been the only person to ever show him love and compassion.

The Phantom stood and walked away from Christine. He picked up the mask from the organ and put it back on. He turned back to her, and held out her hand for her to take.

"Come, we must return," he said. "Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."


	6. Notes

**Notes**

**W**here had Christine disappeared to? That was all that Raoul could think when he rose from his bed. He remembered the man's voice that had been in Christine's room. He left to prepare the carriage, and when he came back the door was locked, and he could hear the voice inside. Who had it been?

Raoul rose from bed and quickly dressed. He had to find Christine. Perhaps Andre or Firmin, or even Madame Giry had found her during the night. After seeing her after so many years, all he could think about was her safety. He had loved her when he was a child, and now his love had been kindled again.

Raoul rushed to Opera House in his carriage. He rushed to his newly acquired office to search for anything that the managers might have left him.

Raoul walked to his desk and something caught his eye. The stamp that closed was odd, but it had to be something. He opened the letter and read the words printed in red ink.

"Do not fear for Miss Daae. The Angel of Music had her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again."

Who had sent this note? The managers? He had to hunt them down. How could they have sent this to him? They had such nerve. Raoul rushed out of the office, the letter clutched tightly in his fist. He had to Andre and Firmin and find out why they had written the letter to him.

He thought first to look in the ground entrance room with the magnificent stair. They had to be there. Raoul ran into the room and saw them at the top of the stairs, apparently discussing something important. But nothing was more important than Christine's safety.

"Where is she?" he shouted up to them.

"Carlotta?" asked Firmin.

"Miss Daae," said Raoul, running up the stairs to meet them. "Where is she?"

"What? How should we know?" said Andre, shooting a quizzical look at him.

"I want an answer," said Raoul. Firmin walked to him, echoing Andre's look. "Isn't this the letter your wrote?"

"And what is it that we're meant to have wrote?" asked Firmin. Raoul handed the letter to Andre, who then read the letter aloud. The words still puzzled him. What did they mean? Had someone kidnapped her? If they did, they would have hell to pay for harming her…

"Where is he?" came a shrill Italian voice. Raoul swirled and saw Carlotta burst into the Opera House dramatically as usual, followed by her hoard of maids. "Your precious patron, where is he?"

"Ah, you're back," said Andre. Raoul watched as Carlotta ran up the stairs, waving an envelope in his face.

"I have your letter," she said to him, "A letter which I rather resent."

"Did you send it?" asked Firmin.

"Of course not!" Raoul shouted. What was Carlotta talking about? He hadn't sent her any note. "What is it that I meant to have sent?" Raoul took the note that he was accused of sending from Carlotta and read it aloud.

"Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered," he read. "Christine Daae will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune, should you attempt to take her place."

"Come Carlotta," said Andre, grabbing one of her arms. "There are too many notes for my taste."

"Yes," agreed Firmin, taking Carlotta's other arm. "All we've heard since we came is Miss Daae's name."

Raoul stood where he was and read over the note once again. The handwriting looked like that exactly of his own note. The same red ink, and the same stamp on the back of the envelope. Whoever had sent his note must have sent Carlotta one, too.

A voice suddenly snapped him out of his thinking.

"Gentlemen," said the voice. Raoul turned to see Madame Giry standing at the bottom of the stairs with little Meg behind her. "Miss Daae has returned."

"Where is she?" asked Firmin.

"I thought best that she be alone," replied Giry simply.

"She needed rest," said Meg.

"May I see her?" asked Raoul. He needed to see if she was alright. But Giry said no and held up yet another envelope. Did these notes ever stop?

Firmin snatched the note away from Giry and read it aloud for everyone to hear. Raoul listened carefully as he read.

"Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. Christine Daae has returned to you, and I am anxious her career should progress. In the new production of _Il Muto_, you will therefore cast Carlotta as the Pageboy, and put Miss Daae in the role of Countess. The role which Miss Daae plays calls for charm and appeal, the role of the Pageboy is silent, which makes my casting, in a word, ideal. I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in box five, which will be kept empty for me. I remain gentlemen, your obedient servant. O.G."

"This is a ploy to elp Christine," shouted Carlotta, "Her lover, the Vicomte, sent that."

"Indeed," said Raoul, appalled. "Can you believe this?"

Raoul slipped away when Firmin and Andre followed after Carlotta, once again begging her to stay. He walked back down the stairs, and found Meg standing there.

"Is she alright?" he asked. Meg had to have known how she was.

"She's fine, monsieur," replied Meg shyly, casting up a quick glance. "She was tired when we found her – we just took her to rest in her room. I think it is best that you leave her be."

"Are you sure she's fine?" asked Raoul. Her safety was above all else. Raoul looked down at Meg with a concerned frown on his face. He felt her hand touch his shoulder. Raoul saw concern in her big blue eyes.

"Trust me. She'll be fine, monsieur," said Meg, smiling softly at Raoul. Meg reminded him so Christine. She was also so beautiful… What was he thinking? He loved Christine, not Meg! He needed to go somewhere.

"Thank you, Meg," he said, slowly stepping away, heading down to the chapel. It was a quiet place, and it reminded him of Christine. He could think there.

Raoul arrived in the small chapel and sat in front of the stained-glass window. So many thing had happened, and so many different emotions flooded through his mind. Raoul asked question after question, trying to determine what exactly had happened, and what was going on now.

Suddenly, the letter that Firmin had read popped back into his head. The Opera Ghost! The list of demands flowed through Raoul's mind.

But then, he thought, hadn't Christine spoken of an Angel? Could it be that this Opera Ghost was Christine's angel? The "O. G." that was sending lunatic demands to him?

Raoul jumped up and sprang up the stairs of the Chapel for the managers' office. He had to see that these demands were rejected. The were absolutely absurd! He couldn't let these be followed – it was a ghost, for Christ's sake! What could a ghost do?


	7. Il Muto

**Il Muto**

**C**hristine had never minded playing the pageboy. It was bad enough to have Carlotta hating her. Christine had been to the chapel a few times, letting the spirit of the Angel fill her as she went to perfect her masterpiece. Each time she went, she wanted to go back again and again. That voice was like an addiction – a bad habit that she couldn't shake.

Yet, the face that he had shown her – that horrible face. She would never be able to forget that image, yet it didn't bother her now. As she thought of him more and more, the deformation disappeared, replaced with the handsome face that he should have been born with.

Poor, poor Erik. She had now gotten in the habit of calling him that. She was so much like her character, Brooke, and she had shaped Erik to be more like her Angel. From their long nights in the darkness of the chapel, she had been accustomed to calling Erik rather than Angel. Christine wondered now what his real name was. The real name of the Angel that she loved.

Someday, she would find out.

But, for now, she was stuck rehearsing, playing the silent role in _Il Muto._ She remembered talking with Raoul a few times in the past couple weeks. He had mentioned some things about a letter when he thought she wasn't listening. It seemed as though this letter was telling him to kick out Carlotta, or at least put her in the silent role.

It was too late for that – the show was that night. They could do nothing now, the costumes and make-up were on, and the guests were already arriving. Christine peeked up away from the stage – there was Raoul, sitting in Box 5. A chill ran up her spine.

She had the feeling something bad was going to happen in the First Act

* * *

He prayed that they had followed his instructions. It was about time that they finally saw how serious he was about his orders. Ever since the two new managers had come into the running, along wit h that despicable new patron who was trying to steal Christine away from him, his orders were being ignored. The patron had been sitting in his box – he should die first. 

But, he couldn't do that. Better to send a warning than kill the man who gave him the money he lived on. The notes were now becoming useless. Buquet, the background master, would be the first to feel the wrath of the Phantom of the Opera.

Now, his plan was set, the prey wandering aimlessly among the rafters above the stage. He knew that the manager had not followed his demands.

The First Act had already begun, and he could hear Carlotta's voice – the voice that made his ears want to bleed. Thank God it wouldn't be singing for much longer. He snuck through the dark tunnels of his theater and entered the small door that led to the room that led to the balcony high in the theater above the audience and contained the chains for the chandelier.

He peered through the window to look down at the stage. There was his dear Christine, playing the pageboy, when she should have been playing the countess. Her genius deserved more. He went to walk away, but then something caught his eye.

The damned fool was sitting in his box. Again. They would have to pay this time – the war had started, and this was the first battle. He would be triumphant.

He slowly stepped out of the room and onto the high balcony, being blocked from the audience by the great crystal chandelier.

"Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?" he boomed, his voice flooding the room.

He looked down and saw Christine looking around, bewildered, but there was also that awe that he loved to see. "It's him." Yes, it was, Christine. He would have taken her there and then, but he had business to attend to.

"Your part is silent, little toad," he heard Carlotta snap at Christine. He smirked.

"A toad, madam?" he said softly. "Perhaps it is you who are the toad."

It had begun. Carlotta would sing no more – at least in this opera. Now it was Buquet's turn. He reentered the room and ran to fetch his lasso. When he closed the door, he could hear Carlotta's croaks. He smiled gently and made his way to the rafters above the stage. He grabbed his rope and quickly made a hangman's noose. Buquet was to be hung, just after he had suffocated him.

He reached the rafters and made his way all around them, catching Buquet's attention. He watched as Buquet starting peering around, trying to search for him. While he wasn't looking, the Phantom stealthily made his way up behind him, not making a sound on the ropes and wood that he had spent so many years navigating.

Buquet turned, and the Phantom cast an evil smile at him. He uttered a moan and ran away from him, trying to climb up the ropes to escape him. But no one could beat the Phantom of the Opera in his own domain. He was as quick as a cat on the ropes, climbing them with grace, and made his way to the next bridge over. The ballet music in the background added to his calm, but as it grew more energetic, so did he.

He looked to his left and saw that Buquet was there and had spotted him. He stopped. He couldn't be fooled. Buquet faked left, so did he. Finally, Buquet took off to the left after faking right. He thought he knew this maze of ropes and wood better than he did, did he? He saw what to do.

The Phantom took off straight up, climbing the rope directly in front of him and came up on the bridge that Buquet was now trying to cross. Fool. He shook the bridge, and Buquet fell right near a crossing. The Phantom pulled out the noose and grabbed Buquet.

All of his anger flooded out as he pulled the noose tighter and tighter. All his anger that those fools had not followed his instructions, the anger at the patron who was taking Christine away, the anger about the life that he had to live – a life in the shadows. All that he did now was for Christine, and always would be. He had nourished her, worshiped her, and lived for her. She would understand.

After his burst, the damage was done, and the audience was to see the price they were to pay if he was ignored any longer. He tied off the rope onto one of the railings, and shoved Buquet over to hang on the stage. The screams that reached his ears were nearly melodic. He watched as down below, there was mass chaos. People running and screaming backstage.

The battle had been won.


	8. All I Ask of You

**All I Ask of You**

**C**hristine ran out of the dressing room, still holding the flower that she had found in there. She had just put her cloak on when she heard the screams. Beyond the panicking people, she could just make out the shape of a body lying the middle of the stage. God, what happened? Who had done it?

Christine eyes were suddenly drawn to the rose with the black ribbon. Erik? Had Erik really killed a man for her? Christine saw Raoul running towards the dressing room, but quickly made her way up the spiraling stairs beside her.

She needed to be alone, and the best place for that was on the roof tonight. It was the place that no one would look for her, yet it had become one of her favorite places in the entire Opera House, beside the chapel. She made her way up the stairs, frantically running up stair after stair, navigating her way through the maze of the Opera, finally opening up the door that led to the roof.

Christine took a deep breath as she surveyed the night. It had just begun to snow, and the night was cool and calm. She took a seat in front of the Pegasus statue, staring down at the rose. The beautiful rose that sent such a dark message.

The Phantom of the Opera had killed, and would no doubt kill again. He hunted to kill. For her. That echoed in her mind. He hunted to kill, all for her sake. He had filled her spirit with such a strange, yet sweet, sound, and through that music, her soul had started to soar. And in those eyes, those sweet, loving eyes, was all the sadness in the world.

"Christine, Christine," his voice called out to her. It was so distant, so gentle, as always, but so near. That voice that belonged to a murderer. But a murderer who loved her.

* * *

Christine. Where had she gone? Raoul ran to the dressing room through the panicking people to find that the door was open, and only Madame Giry stood there. She was looking towards the stairs. Raoul looked up and saw the end of a red cloak. It had to be Christine. He remembered when they were younger, when ever she really wanted to be alone, she would flee to the roof. 

He hoped that he was fast enough to catch her.

Raoul jumped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping that he would be able to catch her. When he got to the next set of stairs, he could no longer see the red cloak, and he didn't know the way to the roof. As he tried to find a staircase that would lead him higher, and possibly to the roof, his mind wandered.

When Buquet came falling down onto the stage, he had heard Meg scream that the Phantom of the Opera was there. There was no Phantom of the Opera. It had only been an accident. There was **_no_** Phantom of the Opera.

But, why had Christine insisted that he was real? She had told him some of what had happened, but not much. It had to have been a dream, nothing more. Christine had always had an imagination, but now he feared that it was getting too out of control. But, he knew that she hadbeen so frightened of him, yet she couldn't get him out of her mind. Who was this man? 

By pure luck, Raoul find a staircase, ran up it, and found a door. He burst out into the cold dark night. He looked around, and saw Christine standing in front of the Pegasus statue. She looked as beautiful as ever, her long, dark brown hair blowing in the gentle wind, the snowflakes landing in her hair.

"Christine," he called out to her. Her head turned towards him, and her eyes reflected in the moonlight.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting his arms around her tightly. "I was so worried about you."

"I was just frightened," said Christine. Raoul could see the sadness in her eyes. "I wanted to get away."

"You're fine now," said Raoul. "I'm right here beside you. Nothing can harm you."

She felt so cold in his arms. Raoul would do anything to keep her with him, and that meant distracting her from the Phantom of the Opera.

* * *

Damn him! He had been so close to Christine – so close to victory. He hid behind the statue stool and watched silently as Christine was led away from him. 

"Nothing can harm you. Let me led you from your solitude," he heard the fool say.

"Say you need me with you now and always," came the voice of Christine. Tears instantly sprang to his eyes as he peered around the statue. He saw Christine with the arms of the patron around her, her head lying on his shoulder.

No! Christine belonged to him. He had given her everything. He had shown her his music, trained her be all that she could be.

"Anywhere you go let me go too. Christine, that's all I ask of you," said the patron. He silently pleaded Christine to run. But what could he do? Could he truly blame her? There was, a distorted man who lived in the shadows, competing with a handsome rich boy who could go wherever he wanted without having to hide his face.

"Say you love me," said Christine. Every word she said to the patron drove daggers through his heart, ripping his soul to shreds. He peered around the statue once again. He looked towards the ground and saw his rose lying on the snow covered roof. He tearing heart dropped, and the tears that had filled his eyes slowly made their way down his cheeks.

"You know I do," said the patron. The Phantom could hardly stand any longer, his knees growing weak, his hands trembling.

He was losing her. Dear, dear Christine, the only one who had ever loved him for who he was. She was slowly slipping away from him.

"Order your fine horses," said Christine. "Be with them at the door."

"Christine, I love you," said the patron softly.

The Phantom's head hung low as he watched them walk from the roof hand in hand. He looked towards the door, where he could imagine Christine coming back to see him. He stared towards the door, but she never came.

He once again saw the rose that Christine had dropped. The rose that symbolized all of love for her. The rose that she had dropped, not realizing how he had felt as if he had fallen off of the roof of the Opera House itself, landing on the ground writhing in his own self-pity.

He knelt to the ground and picked it up. She had no clue how much she meant to him, how much of his soul and heart that he had given to her. He recalled the warmth of her embrace, the wonderful smell of her hair, the touch of her hands caressing him, and the gentle touch of her kiss. He had thought that she would love him alone, but now look what she had done to hurt him.

So, this was how was to be repaid? After doing so much for her, she went with the Vicomte – the ignorant boy who knew nothing of who the real Christine was. The Vicomte knew nothing of their shared passion for music, the need to create melodies, express themselves through the lyrics of the pieces they created. He would never know of that passion, the obsession that their music could become.

He held the rose close, savoring its sweet smell, not wanting to ever be rid of it. His dear Christine – his love, his life – had denied him. He sobbed gently as he knelt there in the cold night. Only the moon and stars to watch the Phantom of the Opera pour out his feelings.

Then, Christine's voice reached his ears. Was she coming back?

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime," she said.

"Say the word and I will follow you," replied the voice of the patron.

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning," said Christine. How could she have done this to him? All he ever wanted was someone to love and love him in return. Those words were seared into his memory, never to be erased. The words that Christine should have been saying to him.

The tears that fell down his cheeks turned suddenly cold. The sadness that he felt turned suddenly into a raging hatred. The rose crumbled as he clenched his fist, destroying all compassion for the Vicomte. The war had stepped up a notch. Christine's love still hung in the balance, but now he had to show the real consequences of disobeying the Phantom of the Opera. The hatred ran through him, and he jumped onto the back of the Pegasus statue, his cape flying back in the cold night breeze.

"You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!" he screamed to the night.

* * *

Christine walked back down the stairs with Raoul, her hand fitting perfectly into his. They were to be married. She had to convince him that it was to be secret – she wouldn't dare let anyone find out. Bad things could happen if the wrong people found out. She knew that the managers already suspected something, but it could make other things so much worse. 

But she felt like she was missing something. She thought back, her mind trying to fight through the euphoria that she felt and think back to what she was missing.

Her rose! Had she really dropped it? She didn't remember doing it, and she certainly didn't mean to.

"Raoul," she said to him, stopping. "I must go back up. I left something on the rooftop."

"I'll go get it," said Raoul, starting to go up the stairs. Christine stopped him.

"No," she said softly. "I'll be right back. I promise."

Raoul gave her a soft kiss on the lips, and she went back up to the roof. The opened the door and felt the cold air rush over her. She saw no one, and walked around, quickly finding the rose.

It was lying on the ground, the petals lying in a crumpled heap, and the stem laying barren, almost completely covered with snow. Had Erik heard them? Had he watched as Raoul had proposed to her, and she accepted?

Christine bent to the ground, ignoring the feeling that he was watching her once again. She picked up several of the petals and took the ribbon off of the stem.

She was in love with two men, each from different worlds. There was Raoul, her childhood sweetheart and friend, and then there was her Angel – Erik – who knew of her passion of music, and understood everything she was, understood her soul. She quickly tied her hair up with the black silk ribbon and held the petals gently before she put them in a book to save them.

What was she to do? Which man was she to choose?


	9. Three Months of Elysian Peace ?

**Three Months of Elysian Peace (?)**

**

* * *

**The beloved love square makes its entrance! YAY! I hope you guys like! P.S. - I don't own any of the characters, yadda, yadda, but dude, I totally own the cool new-and-improved story-line.

_**LOVE SQUARE!**_

_**Your Obediant Servant, A.O.W. **_

* * *

**D**id they really have to hide it? Why did she insist on keeping their engagement secret? If Christine truly had faith in and loved, she would not be afraid to let the world know of their love.

Raoul had been feeling more distant from Christine now that they were supposed to be closer. She had distanced herself from him, spending all of her time down in the chapel, playing the piano. What was she working on? He needed to know what she was doing.

Raoul was excited while he sat, looking at the plans for the Masquerade Ball that they were planning to greet the new year. He had yet to ask Christine to the ball. He might as well ask her soon.

He rose from his desk. He would have to go find her, but now he never really knew where she was. Christine seemed as if she was slowly slipping through his fingers, whenever she looked at him, he couldn't see her actually looking back at him. Her eyes were always distant now, away in another place.

What had happened to her? What had happened to the Christine that had been so excited to run about on the beach? What had happened to the Christine that had always been happy, her face vibrant, those blue eyes had always been so alert but now they were distant and distracted.

Raoul opened the door to Christine's room, seeing only Meg inside. She was dressed in her tutu, just coming back from practice with her mother. It looked as if she was reading one of Christine's notebook. Christine didn't even let him read them. She looked up suddenly when she sensed his presence.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed setting the notebook down quickly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Christine," he said, walking into the room. Raoul had seen Meg so much more often than Christine, and every time he saw her, she looked more and more beautiful. Meg looked older and more beautiful than ever, her long blonde hair was hanging loosely around her face, making her grey eyes stand out.

"I haven't seen her at all today," said Meg, rising. "Why, is something wrong?"

"I'm just worried about her, plus I have to ask her something," said the Vicomte, trying to pry away his eyes from Meg's face. The once innocent face that was now so seductive. "I should go to find her."

"Wait," said Meg, placing her hand on his shoulder as he turned away. He turned back to her and saw so much care in her eyes. "Are you sure there isn't anything wrong? I hardly see Christine anymore. When I do see her, she doesn't even hear me. Sometimes she doesn't even come up to sleep. I'm worried about her."

"So am I," replied Raoul. Before he knew what he was doing, Raoul was leaning closer and closer to Meg. Finally, their lips touched, and Raoul embraced Meg tightly, drawing her body to his. The embrace lasted a long time, when Raoul pulled away.

God, what had he just done? He needed to get away. He had betrayed Christine. He fled the room, ignoring Meg's calls from behind him. Raoul ran back to his office and locked the door. He put his head down on the desk and began to cry.

He had betrayed Christine – but hadn't she betrayed him, too? She had been pushing him away, and it just so happened that Meg was there to comfort him. Raoul still deeply loved Christine, but he was getting all of the affection that he wanted from Christine from Meg. What was he to do? He couldn't tell Christine. Ever. It would break both of their hearts. Meg surely wouldn't tell anyone of what had happened. She knew the consequences.

His heart told him not to answer the door when Meg came, but he opened the door. He peered through the crack to see if he hadn't been imagining her there, but there she was, staring up at him with tears in her eyes. Damn her! Why did she have to cry? He was going to leave her out there, but what if someone saw? He couldn't let anyone see Meg Giry standing outside of his office door crying.

He stepped back to open the door for her to come in.

"I'm so sorry," she bawled as soon as Raoul had shut the door and turned to her. She flung herself onto him, which just made it all the more harder for him. He hugged her and kissed her forehead. "I know that you love Christine, but I…"

"It was my fault," said Raoul softly. It was all his fault. But, Meg looked so beautiful when she cried. "Look, you mustn't tell anyone of what happened, even Christine. Especially Christine. Promise you will never tell."

"I promise," said Meg softly. Raoul never saw Christine, and had no intent to hurt her, but with her pushing him away constantly, there was no reason but for him to try to move on. He could try, but he knew that his heart would always truly lie with Christine. That's why he wasn't going to break the engagement.

What had he gotten himself into with that one stupid act?

* * *

Christine sat in the shallow darkness of the chapel, admiring the rose petals that she had collected from the roof. She had put them in one of her notebooks and let them dry. She now always help her hair back in the black ribbon that had once wrapped around the rose's stem.

Christine knew that she had barely seen Raoul. Things had become so different lately. She felt the pull of the Phantom of the Opera more than ever, and she never wanted to leave the chapel. She hadn't eaten or slept in days, and her parents' candle was running low.

All she could think of was her music. Every time she believed that she was finished with her opera, she found a flaw. It had to be perfect for him. She hadn't felt Erik's presence, yet she knew that he could hear her, deep down below the Opera House.

If Christine stopped and listened, sometimes, deep in the night, she could hear Erik's organ playing melodies. She listened intently as the notes changed, Erik stopped and revised chords, working on that opera as intently as she was hers. Christine could his inspiration and determination in the air. It was contagious.

Her thought frequently drifted back to the night on the rooftop. She could imagine Erik hiding behind one of the large statues, watching as she got engaged to Raoul.

Raoul. She hadn't spoken to him in about two weeks. Christine had convinced him to keep their engagement secret, but she didn't know how long it would last. Not only the secrecy of their engagement, but the engagement itself. She needed to speak with him. She knew that he wouldn't understand what she had been doing, but she needed to assure him that she would still be there for him

She had decided.

Christine rose from the piano, making her way up the stone stairs for the first time in three days with the intention of having human contact. The light from the candles backstage and the light pouring in from the windows hurt eyes. Once her eyes adjusted once again to the light, she made her way toward Raoul's office. She hoped he was there.

Christine made her way through the Opera House, clutching her notebook closely to her chest. It was almost perfect.

Christine turned down the hallway and saw Meg coming out of his office. She watched as Meg took a quick glance around and took off in the opposite direction. What had she been doing?

Christine pushed away her questions and slowly entered Raoul's office. She peered in and looked around. His office had become much more disorganized, papers lying around on the floor. She spotted a big poster that read "Bal Masque" with a masked woman on the front. They were planning a masquerade ball? Why hadn't Raoul told her?

Her blue eyes focused on Raoul. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were glazed and red. Christine had only seen him that way once before – when he heard the news that she had to move with her aunt. He looked dreadful.

When he finally sensed her, he looked up and smiled broadly at her, his face instantly brightening.

"Christine!" he exclaimed, rushing to embrace her. She enjoyed his fresh scent, and how warm he was to her cold body. He then put his hands on her shoulders and fixed his eyes intently on hers. "I was so worried about you. We all were. No one has seen you for days. I missed you."

Christine smiled softly when he kissed her forehead.

"Just working on a little something," she said. "What happened to you?"

"Just worried about you," he replied. His next words oddly desperate. "Christine, you know that I'll always love you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," said Christine, hugging Raoul. She could feel his radiating, powerful, yet desperate, love.

"Let's go to supper tonight," said Raoul, still smiling. Christine couldn't help but agree – her stomach was growling for food. He was energetic and told her to get ready, and he would go order his carriage. Christine ran to her room and got dressed and freshened quickly.

She retied her hair up with the black ribbon – her decision had been set in stone.

* * *

It had to be perfect for her. His opera had to be perfect for Christine. He knew that she would fall in love with it. He had made it for her, and it would be the final step in making her love him. The furthest he got away from the organ was to pace when he couldn't think.

He paced now, coming up with the perfect lyrics to his most powerful song. Far in the distance, he could hear the chapel piano playing. It had to be Christine. She had become lost in her work, too. He could hear stop, change a note or chord, and then continue on, occasionally singing softly to the music.

Then, listening to her sing, the lyrics and notes came to him. They were perfect. He sat back down at the organ and quickly jotted down and played notes, creating the perfect lyrics for his masterpiece. This was the one song that would drive her to him, and make her forget that damned Vicomte.

Christine would hear the melody, and know what was happening. He wouldn't force her to come to him – he had to let her come on her own will. That would prove that she really loved him. He knew that Christine would come to him. He had to just allow her time. The way that she had looked into his eyes, caressed his face, she had to love him. And when Christine chose him over the Vicomte, that would be his ultimate revenge.

Unless, of course, if he got in the way. Then, things might change.

The Phantom spent hours working on that one song, not realizing how the time had flown by. He sat in the dark, feverishly writing down the notes in the dark red ink. Christine could never resist coming back to his kingdom – he knew. He could feel her need for it.

"Erik! Erik!" came the cries. Christine? He rose from the organ and walked down to the edge of the lake. He peered across, and saw Christine standing there, searching for him. How had she found a way down to him?

It didn't matter – she had come to him. He stepped into his gondola and pushed himself across the lake, drawing closer and closer to Christine. She looked more beautiful than ever, her skin was radiant, her blue eyes glowing in the darkness. He pulled the boat as close as he could to her, and got out.

"How'd you find a way down here?" he asked, ushering her into the boat. She sat in the front without question.

"I found a spring in the mirror in the dressing room," she said quietly. "I remembered it, so I searched for it. Then, I made my way down here."

He smiled at her. She was an intelligent one. As he watched her as they made their way back to his home, he noticed the ribbon that held her hair. It looked like the black ribbon he had given her on the rose. As he pushed their way across the lake once again, he remembered the first time that he had ever taken her there. The faithful night when it had all begun.

He helped her out of the boat, and she turned to him, holding something in her hands.

"Here," she said. She grabbed his hand and opened it. In it, she had placed petals. Rose petals. Were those the petals from the rose on the roof? Did that mean that the ribbon from the rose too? He looked into her eyes, searching for an answer. She spoke softly: "Yes. I went back searching for the rose, but all I found was the petals and stem. I took them and saved them and the ribbon also. I wanted you to have them."

He looked at the petals and walked up to his bed and set them next to his music box. He would cherish them. She did still think of him. He looked back at Christine, standing near the organ. She did still love him. He walked back down to her and took her hand.

"Christine, I love you," he said softly. Her eyes looked so beautiful, and he could see all of the love in the world in those eyes. But there was sadness, also. She put her head to his shoulder, and he held her. His dear, dear Christine. But what were they to do about the Vicomte?

"What about the Vicomte?" he asked softly to her hair. "What are we going to do?"

"Keep going as we are," she said, looking up into his eyes. "We can't let him suspect anything. If he ever found out anything, he would try to hunt you down and kill you. I can't risk that. I have to keep him happy."

A double-edged sword. To keep the woman he loved, he would have to let her go with another man. Anyway to keep Christine, but what if she did truly fall in love with the Vicomte. What was he to do then? Could he trust her with his heart any more?

"Trust me. Please," she begged him.

"I do," he finally said, stroking her luscious dark brown hair. "I do."

He knew that she couldn't lie to him. Even if she did fall in love with the Vicomte, he could be taken care of in one swift motion. Then, she would still be his.

So be it.


	10. Masquerade

**Masquerade!**

**T**he great hall was decorated beautifully. Giant bouquets of golden flowers were scattered about, people dressed in white, black, and gold were dancing and chatting happily as Reyer conducted the orchestra from above the great marble stair.

Christine looked around at the sea of masks that surrounded. She saw Andre and Firmin walk in the door with their dates on their arms, admiring what they had planned. As she looked around, she saw, blended in the real golden statues, were men and women standing perfectly still holding chandeliers, disguising themselves. They looked so convincing, sometimes it was hard to tell which one was a real human.

Christine continued down the stairs, drawing glances from the guests who stopped and turned their heads their heads to stare. She wore a great black dress with red and ribbon. She had found it at the foot of her bed a few nights before, accompanied with a note.

Wear this to the ball. It is finally finished.

Erik. It had been from him. She hadn't seen him because Raoul was acting very possessive, trying to spend every waking moment with her. Christine couldn't escape to go to the chapel, let alone find time to sneak down under the Opera House once again. Raoul had also started to sleep outside her room. He thought she didn't know.

Christine then spotted Raoul at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her. He looked handsome, dressed in the blue equatorial suit, with his prestigious jacket draped over his shoulder. She walked to him and grasped his outstretched hand. Raoul embraced her tightly, and Christine smiled and looked over his shoulder, feeling someone's stare.

Meg. She stood there, staring unhappily at them. But when Meg saw that Christine was looking, her face turned into a forced smile. Christine was going to say something to her, but Raoul tipped up her chin and moved in to kiss her.

"No, Raoul. Please don't – they'll see," she pleaded. Things could become disastrous should other people find out. Raoul placed his hand on her cheek gently, and Christine looked into his eyes.

Those brown eyes were full of love. A kind of love that Christine would never be able to return. She loved Raoul, no doubt, but the love that she felt for Erik was much more powerful, more soulful than a love with Raoul could ever be.

"Christine, it's an engagement, not a crime. What are you afraid of?"

"Let's not argue," said Christine, leading him onto the floor to dance. "You will understand in time."

When they began to dance, Christine heard Raoul mutter. "I hope I will."

Christine stepped in time to the music, enjoying it as she and Raoul danced in the sea of people. A little release from the music was to dance to it. She cast a quick glance at Carlotta, who had turned her nose away from them.

They danced, staring in each others eyes. Finally, the music slowed, and they came to a stop. Raoul leaned in and kissed her, and for the first time in a while, Christine felt something. She pulled away, smiling at that feeling. It was like back on the rooftop. Erik!

Christine turned to watch people dance with their golden fans, trying to deny what she had just felt for Raoul. Then, all of a sudden, the lights dimmed, the music stopped, and a red figure appeared at the top of the stair.

Erik.

* * *

The Phantom stood at the very top of the stair, hiding behind the mask of the Red Death. They hadn't invited him, but he brought them a gift. The gift that was truly for Christine. 'Don Juan Triumphant.' He held the score in his hand as he made his way the stair slowly, taking in the looks that the horrified guests cast at him.

"Have you missed me, good messieurs?" he asked the crowd. He spotted Christine at the bottom of the stair, wearing his dress. Standing beside the Vicomte, but he turned his thoughts back the gala. "Did you think that I had left for good? I have written you an opera. Here I bring the finished score – 'Don Juan Triumphant!'"

He threw the leather-bound opera to the managers. It landed on the floor at their feet. He quickly drew his sword and continued his monologue. "Fondest greetings to you all. I have a few instructions just before rehearsal starts. Carlotta must be taught to act; not her normal trick of strutting around the stage." The tip of his sword wiggled the feather that was on top of her head. When Piangi stepped up, he put the sword into Piangi's stomach. No one would dare touch him while he held a sword. "Our Don Juan must lose some weight," he said to Piangi. "It's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age." Then, he spotted his two managers on the other side of the stairs. They were going to get their turn. "And my managers must learn that their place is in an office – not the arts."

Now it was Christine's turn. "As for our star," he said, meeting her staring blue eyes. He noticed that the Vicomte had left, leaving Christine to him. Bad choice. "Miss Christine Daae. No doubt she'll do her best – it's true, her voice is good, but should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn if pride will let her return to me, her teacher."

The Phantom stood there and looked down at Christine, slowly and silently calling her to him. She had been spending all of her time with the Vicomte now. Could she be starting to doubt her love? The anticipation ran through his bones as Christine slowly walked toward him. Once she heard those songs, she would be his.

Forever.

* * *

How could he have been so stupid? He hoped that Christine would be safe there, standing alone. He had to get his sword. He was going to have to take care of this Phantom once and for all now. He was trying to hurry, trying to get back before anything could happen. God, he hoped Christine was alright.

Raoul ran from his office, carrying the sword in his hand as he hurriedly tried to put the sheath on his belt. He ran above the stair and peered down. He could hear faint murmuring, and saw the man as the Red Death walking slowly towards Christine. It had to be the Phantom. Who else would be so intent on getting Christine away from him?

Raoul ran down the stairs, casting a glance to the side, seeing that the Phantom and Christine were still drawing closer – they were almost touching now. Christine looked so different with the Phantom. They almost looked like they belonged with each other.

"Your chains are still mine!" he heard the Phantom yell. "You belong to me!"

Raoul ran towards the Phantom as he watched him disappear in a cloud of flame and smoke. He had gone through a trap door in the middle of the floor. Raoul jumped in behind him. He had to protect Christine from him. She was his, and he would die for her.

Raoul landed with his sword drawn and whipped around, searching for the Phantom. All he saw were mirrors. Countless, endless mirrors and images of himself. He spun around, and saw the image of the Red Death sulking around him, moving anywhere and everywhere, and nowhere Raoul could see.

Where had he gone? What had Raoul gotten into? Which way was the way out?

The fear infected him, driving the blood through his veins harder and faster. He could the Phantom surrounding him, moving about silently, those eyes burning through him. Even though he knew that his sword could not protect him, he swung aimlessly around, trying to hit something. Anything. When he turned, a noose dropped down, and he swung. How was going to find a way out of this?

How could he fight a demented genius?

Then, he jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. He swung his sword around once again, and faced Madame Giry. How had she found him? How did she know about this place? Raoul let her lead him out of the horrible maze of mirrors, her bony hand gripped tightly on his arm.

When they were out, Madame Giry tried to get away without answering any questions.

"Madame Giry, wait!" he said, following her.

"Please Monsieur, don't ask. I know no more than anyone else," she said, trying to hurry off away from him, heading toward her room.

"That's not true!" said Raoul fiercely. Madame Giry was the one person in that cursed Opera House who knew the story of the Phantom, and he wasn't going to let her tell him otherwise.

"Don't ask," said Madame Giry once again, "There have been too many accidents."

"Accidents!" said Raoul. What was she talking about? These deaths were all planned by the Phantom. They were murders. "Please Madame Giry. For all our sakes."

Raoul looked down at Madame Giry as she finally gave in. She ushered him into her room, and he sat quietly on one of her wooden chairs in the dim candlelight. Raoul watched as Giry slowly walked toward him and stared at an old picture sitting on her dresser. It appeared to be a young girl, around twelve, that looked similar to Madame Giry. She touched the picture and Raoul listened hard as she spoke.

"It was many years ago," she began, setting the candle she held down on the table. "There was a traveling fair in the city. Gypsies. I was living in the dormitories of the opera house, studying to be a ballerina. One of many. There were many things, human oddities, conjurors, contortionists, tumblers.

"And there was one I shall never forget. The Devil's Child. We walked into the tent, and saw a boy locked in a cage with a sack covering his face. He couldn't have been more than a year or two younger than me. He played with a small monkey that held cymbals. He was beaten by the man, and he pulled the sack off, revealing the boy's face. I remember everyone around me laughing at the poor boy, but I couldn't help but stare in horror. No one deserved that, even if they were deformed."

Raoul could see everything in his mind. He could imagine seeing a small boy being locked in a cage and having to suffer the humiliation of having your face exposed to the world as a freak. No wonder he had turned out the way he did. Still, what kind of person was he? Still was the blood-thirsty murderer, or the abused child getting through life the only way he knew? Raoul listened carefully once again, as like a movie, the images played through his mind.

"When everyone left, I stayed behind, watching him. As the man picked up the money that some had left behind, the boy grabbed a rope and suffocated him. When the police came in, I opened the cage and brought him here.

"I hid him from the world and all it's cruelties. He has known nothing else of life since then, except this opera house. It was his playground, and now, his artistic domain. He's a genius, he's an architect and designer. He's a composer…and magician. A genius, monsieur."

"But clearly, Madame Giry, genius has turned to madness," said Raoul.

What was he up against?


	11. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

**Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again**

**S**he couldn't sleep. Christine lay in her bed, staring at the full moon outside her window. She thought of what had happened at the ball the previous month and how things were changing. They had started the rehearsals for 'Don Juan' three weeks prior, and things were progressing as well as they could be.

She couldn't get the thoughts of her father out of her mind. She remembered all that he taught her. She remembered when he played the violin until she fell asleep, laughing while she learned to play the piano.

Christine sat up in bed and looked out the window. She could see men walking and carriages waiting. She needed to go see him. She needed to be close to him once again.

She rose and grabbed a black cloak from her bed and quietly opened the door. She peered out and saw Raoul sleeping in a chair facing her door, his head propped on a wooden beam. Christine stepped carefully, trying to avoid all the creaks in the floorboards, making as little noise as possible. She threw on the cloak and walked through the Opera House, seeing it through different eyes.

The golden statues cast dark blue shadows on the glowing marble floor in the moonlight. The light bounced off of the statues and reflected about the great stair, giving the entire room a very surreal, unearthly feel.

Christine opened the door and walked into the cold, winter, night air. She had always loved taking night walks on the beach with her father, walking hand in hand.

What had she done to have him taken away?

* * *

She thought that she could sneak out of the Opera House without him hearing. The Phantom heard Christine, as quiet as she was, leaving as she headed toward the stables. He saw her slip out of the door and into the street. He followed quickly and quietly behind, being sure to stay out of sight.

He hid behind doors, beams, and slunk behind people and carriages. He saw Christine give a pouch of money to one of the drivers and walk off. He waited patiently as the driver got the carriage ready and hooked up the two black horses. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his face, being sure that no one could see his mask.

He had been waiting so long for this chance. The chance to get Christine once and for all. The night that she had come down to him, Erik had felt truly loved. That was all that he had ever wanted, but now, he had to put the final nail in the coffin of the Vicomte De Chagny. No matter what that meant.

When Christine did not return immediately, Erik grabbed a wood block that lay next to a bale of horse hay. He crept up behind the driver and slammed the block down on his head.

The driver slumped to the ground, instantly unconscious. The final battles of the war had begun, and now, he was determined to win now more than ever.

He dragged the man's body aside quickly before anyone had noticed the slumped man in his arms. Erik covered his limp body with hay and returned to the carriage. He made sure the horses were secured and climbed into the driver's seat, grabbing the reins with his leather gloved hands.

He waited patiently for Christine to get into the carriage, the anticipation running through his veins. Once again, he was so close to his dear Christine, sitting innocently in the back of the carriage.

"To my father's grave please," she said quietly.

The cemetery. Perfect.

* * *

Raoul woke when he felt a soft breeze on his cheek. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that Christine's door was now open.

He was instantly wide awake. He cursed himself for falling asleep. Look what he had done. He had to find Christine before someone got to her. Before the Phantom got to her.

He ran inside her room, and ripped the covers off of the small bed, revealing only more of the same white sheets. A notebook beside the bed caught his eye. He picked it up and leafed through the pages. He read quickly, trying to make out the words. It looked nothing like Christine's handwriting – it was too small and scribbly - yet he knew that they were her words on the page.

"Father, I need you now more than ever. Is the Angel of Music you promised me just a lie? Is it you? Or is he just another man? Is Erik who I think him to be? Or is he only a heartless murderer? I love him. But, then, there's Raoul. I thought of him only as a friend, but sometimes I think there's more. Can I go through life married to Raoul while my heart lies with Erik? Or does my heart truly lie with Raoul?

"I need your help."

Chills went up Raoul's spine. Was her Erik the Phantom of the Opera? Christine, the one who he thought would love him forever, was just pretending. If it weren't for that damned Phantom….

He had to find her. He had to take care of the Phantom once and for all. He ran down the stairs, leaving the notebook on her bed. He came to a window, and saw a carriage pulling away, a small form sitting in the back. Christine. He made sure his sword was on his belt, and ran outside into the winter night, not bothering to grab a coat.

He ran outside and saw a driver get up off of the ground, where he had been covered with hay. He was rubbing the back of his head. Raoul ran up and stopped in front of the man.

"What happened?" he asked, looking at the man's face in the moonlight.

"I was setting up the carriage for a young woman," said the man in a raspy voice, still rubbing his head, "When I got hit on the head. Someone took her and the carriage."

"Where did they go?" asked Raoul.

"The cemetery," said the man.

The cemetery. She was going to her father's grave.

Raoul ran to his horse's stable, opened the door, and hopped on it. He needed to find her, quickly.

Off he rode into the night, heading to the cemetery.

* * *

The cold steel bars of the cemetery gate closed quietly behind her, making only the gentlest creaking. She paused for a moment as the carriage drove away. Christine surveyed the broken, barren trees, and the many forgotten graves. She could feel the coldness of the night seeping into her. She was numb to anything else. She could hardly feel the small bouquet of fading roses in her hands, or the cloak that was supposed to keep her warm.

Christine walked slowly through the rows of graves, passing under the eyes of the sculpted angels watching over the dead. The angels that comforted some, but the thought of angels brought Christine close to tears.

Her father, the great Gustave Daae, had promised to send her an Angel of Music. That promise had meant the world to her. Her father had been her one real companion. He had been there for her always, then he was ripped away from her.

Christine could still see his face smiling down at her while she sat at their small piano as her tiny fingers tried to reach the keys. Those bright blue eyes that had been the source of her happiness and joy when she was smaller.

"Soon you'll be better than me," he would always joke with her. But then he would turn serious, his eyes taking on a sheen of pride. "The Angel of Music must have touched you."

"Like he touched you, father?" Christine had asked. She knew how wide her eyes were with the thought of being touched by an Angel. She saw her father's head nod, and they continued on, learning new notes, new chords, playing piano and violin in harmony, filling their home with song and dance.

Why had he left? She wished that he would come back for her, speak to her again. She wanted to see him again. See his smile, his laugh, even hear him chastise when she hit the wrong chord. She had started having dreams about him, where she would sit in his lap and listen to him tell stories of the boy who had lived in a cage, and who escaped with the help of another boy and a girl.

Her sleep was riddled with the memories of her father, but she knew still that she would never see him like that again. She would never see him walk in through her door and applaud her after a brilliant performance. The ones that he always knew that she could do. The piano concertos and voice solos that he had tried to teach her.

As the Daae Tomb rose into sight, the sentinels cast their stone eyes down at her, scrutinizing her every step, her every move. They saw every tear fall from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. They watched as she fell to her knees in front of the crypt, weakened from the grief of the memories of her father.

Why couldn't she just forget what had happened? Be rid of the past that haunted her everywhere she went. She needed the strength to go on. She needed to find it somehow. She had spent too many years lingering on the death of her father, gazing across the years that she had wasted trying to be rid of the past that would never leave.

It was so hard trying to say good-bye.

* * *

He crept through the cemetery, flitting among the gravestones, just another moving shadow in the cloud covered moonlight. Finally, he reached the Daae Tomb, where he waited for Christine, and his chance to let her come to him.

Erik waited until he saw Christine approach the tomb. He could see the tears that rolled down her pale cheeks, and it pained him, but he knew of what he must do. He was her Angel of Music. He loved her with his heart and soul, and he could never let that go. She thought that he was the angel that her father had sent, and he would play that role.

"Wandering child, so lost and helpless, yearning for my guidance," he said softly, calling her to him silently. Her voice was soft and raw when she answered.

"Angel? Father? Who is it there?" she asked, looking around, trying to find the source of his voice.

"Have you forgotten your Angel?" he asked softly. He looked down and once again saw the awe and wonder on her beautiful, yet pale face. The redness had left her cheeks, and she was no longer crying. "You resist, yet your soul obeys."

"I thought you had left me," came her voice. "I denied you, turning from the true beauty of your soul. Come to me, strange angel."

Those words brought him hope. Christine did love him. He watched as she slowly walked closer to the grave, coming to him as he called. Christine. The one that had brought him to tears of happiness and joy just listening to her voice was willing to go with him.

The hooves. The galloping of the white horse over the snow of the undisturbed graves, carrying him.

The Vicomte.

* * *

Raoul rode with speed through the woods, trying to catch up to Christine as fast as he could. He needed to reach her. He rode gracefully, moving in time with his horse, urging it on, faster and faster.

The gate of the cemetery was barely cracked open, and they burst through. They ran through the cemetery, avoiding the looming gravestones, making their way to the Daae Tomb. Christine had to be there.

They turned the last corner, and Raoul could see Christine standing there in a black coat and dress facing the tomb. In her small hands, she held a bouquet of dying red roses. As he looked passed her, Raoul could see the shape of a many hiding behind the tomb, staring at Christine.

"Christine!" he called out, trying to grab her attention, and rip her away from the gaze of the Phantom. He jumped off of the horse, bound up the stairs of the tomb, and grabbed Christine's shoulder. "Christine! Whatever you believe, this man, this thing, is _not_ your father!"

Christine turned to face him. Instead of seeing the look of comfort on her face, he heard a gasp escape from her lips and her eyes go wide with horror.

Instinctively knowing the Phantom was behind, Raoul turned, he quickly unsheathed his sword and braced for the attack. If he wouldn't have done that, he would have joined the people below his feet.

The silver flashed before his eyes, as did the white of the Phantom's mask. So it had begun. Raoul let the adrenaline flow through his body, and took all of his anger out on the Phantom, the man who was trying to rip Christine away from him. Raoul used all of his skill to avoid the blade of the Opera Ghost. He could almost see the flames in his eyes from the hatred that he felt. The hatred that he was sure was echoed in his own eyes.

He was back into a corner of the deck of the tomb, and jumped over the wall down onto the graves below. The clanging of metal on metal rung out through the night as the two men from different worlds fought over the love of one woman.

Raoul's breaths were growing ragged, growing tired from the onslaught. The Phantom's sword was quick and hard to strike, with the skull at its base, staring at him with hollow black eyes. He narrowly escaped being struck, the blow blocked by the trunk of a fallen tree. He ran away, trying to put distance between himself and the Phantom. He ran behind a stack of coffins, placed on top of each other with places to peer through. He was sure that the Phantom would follow him, but he went on the opposite side disappearing.

Raoul looked through, trying to see which way he had went, fear now infecting him. He couldn't see him. Didn't know which direction that he was coming from. Then, he saw a black glimpse from the corner of his eye. The Phantom had once again tried to sneak up on him to no avail. Raoul ran after him, pushing him farther back, strength growing with his confidence that he would win when the Phantom suddenly turned around, throwing his black cloak in his face, blinding him for a split second.

Searing pain shot up his arm, and Raoul fell back, saved only by a grave that almost looked like a bed for the dead to rest upon. He flung himself upward, his hatred refueled.

He would take care of this Phantom once and for all.

* * *

Christine watched in horror as her two loves ran throughout the cemetery, trying their hardest to kill each other. She flinched as she saw the blood drip from Raoul's arm, yet she couldn't bear to see Erik driven backward by his attack, either. She rushed down the stairs, never taking her eyes off of them.

All of a sudden, Erik stopped dead in his tracks, and Raoul rammed into him. Luckily, his sword had been down and hadn't hurt Erik. He had braced for the hit, and Raoul was sent backwards, landing hard on his back. He let go of his sword, and quickly reached for it, but Erik kicked it away, and raised his own high, ready to plunge it downward.

"No, Erik!" she cried, running to him. "No! Not like this. Please."

Christine watched as Erik turned sharply away from Raoul and towards her. She could see his wish to kill Raoul, and she understood. But she would not let Erik kill him in front of her. She pleaded to him with her mind. She wouldn't see anyone killed that day.

Erik reluctantly sheathed his sword and walked toward her. He grabbed her arm firmly, taking her quickly through the cemetery, leading her through the rows of identical gravestones. She looked back quickly, but could no longer see Raoul. Christine did not question where they were going. She followed him willingly, staring at his bowed head in the darkness.

What truly went on in the mind of the Phantom of the Opera? As she watched him from behind, she realized what had made him so similar to her father. What had made her go to him, what had made her cry to see him in pain. He looked so similar to him, had the same mannerisms. Those brilliant blue eyes, the smooth dark hair.

Eventually, Erik's grip loosened until he eventually released her. Erik turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. Those eyes were full of dying hate and tears. They were bloodshot, and Christine place her hand on his face.

She did love him, no matter what he thought. His jaw was warm and tense under her cold hand. Her Angel just a man. She saw the pain and love in his eyes that she had always he had shed on the rooftop.

"Why?" he asked, placing his hand over hers. "Why didn't you let me finish this?"

"Because," said Christine gently, "Because I will not see my friend killed before my eyes, Erik. Understand this. I've known Raoul since I was a child . He was one of my greatest friends in the world. You can't change that."

"So you love him," hissed Erik, jerking away from her. Christine hated to see him like that. he was so absolved in his self-pity he couldn't see what she was truly trying to say. "Say it! Tell me you love him and not me!"

Christine was shaking from the fierceness of his voice, and how quickly he had changed. He just wouldn't listen to her. She had to force him to listen.

"Erik!" she yelled, taking his masked face in her hands, staring fiercely into his blazing blue eyes. "Listen! Why do you insist in wallowing in your own self-pity, making yourself the person that those people have loved to hate? If you are so intent on being you, why do let these people dictate who you are?

"They call you a murderer, you kill. They call you a beast, you snarl at them. Those people created this monster. This isn't the man that I fell in love with. Erik, the man who tortures others with a noose and kills for revenge isn't you. You're killing the man I know you are with that noose. You're strangling him, cutting him off slowly, leaving only the monster.

"I don't want to see that monster only longer, Erik. I don't."

Christine released Erik and turned away from him, staring at the glowing moon. She couldn't believe her own boldness. She had just silenced the man who had just shown so much skill with a blade. But he had needed to hear the truth about himself, and she had given it to him.

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension in the air almost tangible. She knew that she had spoken the truth. The Erik she loved was the man who lived for music, not for the pleasure of killing. She knew that beneath that mask was the musical genius who she had loved from the moment she had heard his voice.Somewhere beneath the years of torture. She would have to help him find that man again.

She hoped that she could find him.


	12. Don't Put Me Through This

**Don't Put Me Through This**

**H**e couldn't believe that she had abandoned him to go with that murdering bastard. Raoul burst into the Opera Populaire, not caring whether he woke people or not. He stormed into his office, slammed the door, and threw his sword to the ground. How could Christine do that to him? She had abandoned him for that damned circus freak.

He let his rage out, flinging books and papers across the room. He had been fighting so hard to get her away from him, and she just ran away with him.

No! She was forced to go with him. Christine didn't want to go with the Phantom. He had grabbed her arm and dragged her with him. Why would Christine want to go with him? She still had feelings from him. She had stopped the Phantom from killing him, hadn't she? Didn't that count for anything?

"Raoul!" came the gasp from behind him. He whirled around and saw the beautiful Meg, standing in his doorway dressed in her nightgown, her eyes wide with shock in the growing daylight. She rushed toward him and gently touched his arm. He winced, remembering the gash.

"Come with me," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him gently. He felt the tension slip away as he followed Meg to get bandages. Raoul followed her through the growing light of the opera house. He was led to the backstage and sat on a small wooden bench as Meg fetched cloth and water to clean the wound.

Raoul removed his shirt carefully as to let Meg get a better look at the wound. Raoul tossed the blood-stained shirt to the ground and looked at the cut. It was deep and ran the width of his arm. Crimson stains ran the length of his arm.

He winced at the pain when Meg placed the wet cloth on his arm and wiped the blood away.

"What happened?" asked Meg, wrapping his arm tightly with the cloth bandages. He didn't know if he should tell Meg the encounter with the Phantom. He couldn't.

"I was walking through the woods and got hit by branch," he said feebly. It was a horrible lie, but Meg didn't question. He knew she didn't believe him. The cut was too perfect. Too precise to be from the ragged branch of a tree. But he hadn't wanted to worry her.

After a few more minutes, Meg tied off the cloth and smiled. "There," she said. "All done."

Raoul smiled back and flexed his arm. He could feel his heartbeat through the cloth. He slipped back into his torn and bloody shirt and rose. He grabbed Meg's hand and kissed it gently, his lips grazing her warm hand.

"I thank you, Mademoiselle," he said, looking deeply into her blue eyes. Planning could wait.

* * *

The Vicomte had put those thought in her head, thought Erik pacing in front of his organ. He had escorted Christine back to her room in thought. After she had yelled at him, they hadn't said much to each other.

He could envision the Vicomte back on the roof telling Christine that he loved her and always would. The Vicomte was the man who was ripping Christine away. He had to be eliminated. Christine had been somewhat right. He was the man she had fallen in love with, but the monster was part of who he was. She couldn't change that. Christine would learn to love the monster that he was. She could see the man behind the monster, but the Vicomte was trying to change that. Trying to make her see only the monster.

Damn him!

The war was in full motion, the pawns moving swiftly now, preparing for the final battle. They were all going to have to pay. They were performing his work – the rehearsals had already begun, and if Christine wouldn't leave willingly, he would have to take her by force. She had once been so willing to find him, come with him down into his world. Now, she was nowhere to be seen.

Yet he could still hear her. At rehearsals, or in the depth of night, he could still hear her go to the chapel to play and sing. He was to sing only for him, no other. He had a plan to win her back. Take her back without her knowing. The power of his music would over take her, possess her. Then, and only then, when she was most vulnerable, would he take her.

It was to be the last sighting of the Phantom of the Opera. The last time he would ever be noted in history. After this, he was only to be a legend, a figment of imagination. The Phantom of the Opera would leave forever, leaving with the love of his life.

Dear Christine Daae.

* * *

Of all the men in the world, she had scorned the one she loved most. The second Erik had left her, Christine had buried herself under her covers and cried. What had she been thinking?

Christine could not sleep now, but not because of the painful memories of her father, but the excruciating memory of seeing Erik so taken aback by what she had said. And seeing the pain in his eyes.

She rose from her bed and lit one of the candles on her small desk, flooding over with notebooks. She quickly searched out the notebook with "All Falls Silent" in it and extinguished the candle. She had to find some way of apologizing to him.

Christine clutched the book and walked slowly and quietly once more out of her room, heading toward the dressing room.

The light in the Opera House was growing ever so slowly, the dawn about to break. She could still make out her way without a candle, passing the many rooms silently, not making a noise on the floors in her bare feet. As she walked through the ballroom, she felt the solid gold gaze of the statues upon her, watching her as she continued in the betrayal of her betrothed.

The door to the dressing room was unlocked, and she stepped inside. It was much more spacious when there were no flowers crowding the inside from a great new opening. Once more she faced the mirror that had started this journey. The mirror that held so much joy and fear. She approached it and looked at herself in the mirror for the first time in a while. What she saw she didn't recognize.

She saw not the happy, energetic, artistic girl that she had once been. She saw a woman, tall, slender, beautiful in a dark way. Her skin was pale, her cheeks hollow, her blue eyes wide, outlined softly by her waving dark brown hair. Her small slender hands clutched at the notebook greedily, white showing on her knuckles.

The woman in the mirror was not the Christine Daae that she had become. The Christine Daae who lied to her childhood friend, the Christine Daae that had learned to love a murderer, the Christine Daae who had not a passion for playing in the sun, but sitting in the darkness, writing an epic tale of the girl who is betrayed by her love, but at last finds love in the most unexpected place, was the Christine Daae of the here and now.

Christine didn't know if she liked the new her. It was odd. She enjoyed the old her, living in the sun, going for walks among the bustling people. But the new her was appealing also. She was more mature, and more passionate than most took someone her size for. There was also so much allure in the darkness that took to her soul. The mystery, the unknown element to it. Just as she knew nothing below the surface of her passion, seeing only the tip of the iceberg, the same was true was true for the darkness. And for Erik. Erik – the name of the man she loved she still didn't know. She was to find out soon enough.

Christine broke her gaze and knelt down, feeling for the spring that she had once found in the lower left hand corner of the mirror. She triggered it and the mirror gently swung open, revealing the damp tunnel that she had once thought as a beautiful, candle filled wonder. She called out once to him, her voice echoing in the darkness.

The black ribbon in her hair slid out easily, and she tied it quickly around the perfect opera. She left it there on the ground, waiting for him to find it and read it. It was finished. Christine walked back out of the mirror and closed it. She looked back once more at the mirror.

Sometimes it was better to let the illusion take over.


	13. Seal My Fate Tonight

**Seal My Fate Tonight**

**T**he sun flooded the blood red sky on the morning of the opening of the grand tale of deceit, love, and lust. "Don Juan." The light flooded into the world-renowned Opera Populaire, where before the door hung a sign, engulfed in painted flames.

Inside the grand Opera House was the last-minute bustling and rehearsals for the work of the Phantom of the Opera. Last minute costume alteration, touch-ups on the backdrops, newly polished props, and lastly, their star, who was nowhere to be seen.

Christine sat once more in the chapel, praying in front of her father's candle. Praying that no one would get hurt that night because of her. The Phantom had made a few appearances during their rehearsals, his voice bouncing off of the velvet and statue lined walls as he, in his ghostly manner, directed his perfect opera.

Doubts had crept their way into her mind. Raoul had ordered the police to surround the theater, the security was to be stationed at every door, patrolling backstage. What did he think would happen in the opening of the phantom's opera?

Christine had heard nothing from Erik since the night she had left her opera behind the mirror. She knew he had taken it. What was she to do? If Erik did somehow show up, could she betray him and let Raoul get his revenge? Or would she flee with Erik, leaving Raoul to his demise?

There were many turns on the path of her life, and she had just been delaying her choice. She was now at the biggest fork she would ever have to face. The question was: Erik, the man who had filled her soul? Or Raoul, the man who had stolen her heart?

Christine looked down at her shaking hands, her vision blurred by the tears in her eyes. She could still barely make out the crimson petal that was quivering in her light hold. She could feel the softness of the petal, its velvety smoothness. The last petal left from the rose that would have withered without Christine's determination to preserve everything that had shown her signs of Erik's love.

Christine felt a sudden presence behind her. She turned to see Raoul standing there, looking down with sympathetic eyes. She quickly put the petal back in her pocket and stood to face him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, coming toward her and putting his arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace. Christine let him embrace her while she glanced over his shoulder. Christine thought she caught a glimpse of black fleeing backup the stairs, but it might have just been a fleeting shadow in the candlelight.

She weakly nodded her head against his shoulder. It was odd, the way he was acting. He truly thought that she didn't know what he was doing. He was acting so sweet about her out on the stage, knowing that the chances were good that Erik would show up. He was risking her life for the satisfaction of his own.

The world around her had changed so much also. She was not the only one altered by the all too real "accidents" of the Phantom of the Opera. She had turned to her darker side, living and breathing in the darkness. Raoul had changed from the well mannered boy into the revenge hungry man, willing to throw away lives so he could know that he had succeeded.

She was being twisted in so many directions, not knowing for sure which road she was going to take.

She had to decide.

* * *

He remained calm and determined even though his heart was beating fast and wild as he made his way through the tunnels of the opera house on his final mission. Tonight was the night that Christine would be his forever, and no one, not even the Vicomte, would be able to stop him.

Erik had been patient enough, waiting for his time. He made his way up above the bustling stage, where they were setting the stage for his masterpiece. The pieces of music that he had made. The pieces of music that would engulf Christine, consume her very soul, lead her to him.

Just as her music had done the same to him. He had read her opera, "All Falls Silent," nonstop until he had finished. He played the music in the background as he read, sometimes crying as the words on the page seemed to reach out to him, as if she were speaking directly to him through those words on the wrinkled pages. He had saved the ribbon, tying it to his wrist, wearing it always, knowing that he would remain close to her always if he wore it.

He entered the room high above the audience with the steel chains of the chandelier running through it. He knew exactly where the rope lie that would need to be cut. He disconnected the chain that would stop the chandelier from falling, and made sure that everything

was in place. Perfect for his plan.

The stage had been set for the final battle.

He then walked out of the small door and started to make his way back down beneath the opera house, when he heard a noise coming from the tunnel that led him to the vents above the mangers' office. He heard unusual resulting in the office and irregular breathing. It didn't sound like just the Vicomte was in office. He couldn't help but see how much they were fretting over his opening night.

Erik turned down the path and peered through of the vents in the room. He peered down and what he saw sent a mixture of feelings bursting through his body. Happiness, rage, contempt, satisfaction. Unbeknownst to them, Erik watched as Raoul and Meg stood in the office, embracing each other tightly, Raoul kissing Meg as passionately as he should he kissed Christine.

The oddest thoughts flew through his head as he watched them down below. Even if Christine loved Raoul, she didn't deserve that, even though it brought him joy to know that Raoul was off with someone other than Christine. He should die for betraying Christine, but he should live for have the sense to leave her.

All the more evidence to tear her away from the Vicomte.

Erik walked back, leaving them in peace, once again heading down toward his home, his cavernous lair beneath the Opera House. A delightful revelation before his preparations for the big opening.

As he walked, he could imagine Christine joy when he brought her down with him, and the feelings of hatred she would have towards that boy when he revealed the truth of his betrayal. But he had to stay focused on the task immediately before him.

He was eager. Soon the audience would be inside, and his opera would begin. The beginning of a new life with Christine and the end of the life in the lonely shadows that he knew. Everything would soon be perfect.

* * *

Christine wearily walked up the stone stairs behind Meg, exhausted already from the weight Raoul was forcing her to bear. She had to prepare in so many ways for the performance of a lifetime. As she got her costume on and ready, she noticed the ribbon tied to the post of the mirror. She took it down and gave it to Madame Giry.

"I want this in my hair, too, please," she said. Now, along with the rose that held her hair was Erik's ribbon. It had to be his. She waited for Madame Giry to put it in and turned to her quickly, tears shining in her eyes. "You've treated me like a daughter for so long," she said, knowing that something big was going to happen. Very big. "If anything should happen to me…I just want you to know that I appreciate everything. If it wasn't for your kindness, I would never have been able to come here."

"You would have never been in this position," said Giry, looking to floor in anger. "You would have never had to deal with any of this."

"Don't say that," said Christine, a few of the tears falling down her cheeks. She embraced her tightly and took a deep breath. She was ready. She had the responsibility to take on the role of Aminta. And that role she would play. "You've done all you can. You can do no more. This is all up to me. It's my choice, my decision. It's my time now."

"Are you sure, child?" asked Madame Giry, tears now clouding her eyes as Christine looked into them, seeing the motherly look in her eyes. "I promised that I would take care of you when your father died, if anything should happen. I don't want to break that promise."

Christine took another deep breath and turned toward the stage, the seats of the theater filling already. She had to face this on her own. Police wouldn't be able to help, nor would Raoul. She was on her own from the second the play began, and she had to find the courage inside herself to perform this.

"Yes," she replied to Madame Giry, eyes still focused on the stage. Her eyes strayed to the brightly lit chandelier above the audience. It's great splendor forever staying there, to light the grand Opera Populaire. She hoped that it would be there to help guide her through the darkness that was trying to swallow her. The great chandelier there to give her strength and hope in the despair that had become her life.

"Erik," she said to herself quietly. "What are you going to do?"

* * *

"Remember, when the time comes – shoot," said Raoul to the police chief beside him as they made their way to Box Five. "Only if you have to, but if you do, shoot. To kill."

"But how will I know when the time is right, monsieur Vicomte?" asked the police chief.

Raoul replied simply: "You'll know." Raoul stepped into Box Five at took a tentative seat in his chair as he waited. He saw the audience down below, shuffling in their seats, eager for the show to begin. Raoul, too, was restless, going over the plan he had in his head. The police were stationed everywhere, ready to strike when the time came. He was positive that the Phantom was going to come. Why wouldn't he? It was all seeming too easy – too predictable.

He kept shooting glances at the managers in the box across from his. They looked nervous, though it was barely detectable. Raoul knew what he had done. It was a lot that he had asked of Christine. He knew how afraid she had been after all that she had been through. That monster forcing her to go with him. This all had to end.

It would be over soon enough. The Opera Ghost would be gone for good, he would have Christine, and everyone would be happy. The stage lit, the velvet crimson curtain started to crack open.

It had started.


	14. Don Juan

Hey! usual stuff, I don't own Phantom, and For some reason, I really don't like this chapter, maybe because it makes me feel sorry for Raoul, but whatever. I love this part in the movie, but I think there's so much more to the actual story that I could have added to make it better, but that's just being my own worst critic, and for my own sake, don't agree with me. So, the final stage has been set, the scene about to start. I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Don Juan**

**T**he final scene had started. The opera had gone without incident for the first two acts. No mess ups, no technical difficulties – perfect as could be. And no sign of the Phantom. Christine had been relieved. She had seen the police and knew their orders. She wanted no one to get hurt – especially Erik – on her account.

She waited backstage for her cue to come out. It was the final scene. Just one more scene before she could leave. And just one last scene for Erik to come. On last scene for something horrible to happen. Christine had the war going on in her mind the entire opera. Erik or Raoul? There was no time to decide. No time to think. Just go out and sing one last song for the Phantom of the Opera. "The Point of No Return."

She had never fully understood the meaning of those words until she had written them down over and over, seeing them in her handwriting, feeling her soul pour off into those words as Erik had done. The song was for her, and her alone. It was full of passion. His passion for her. His obsession with her.

Christine's focus was pulled back to the stage. Poor Aminta. She was being tricked into thinking that this man was someone she knew, when it truly was a stranger who had found her and fell in love with her. It suddenly clicked, and the adrenaline from her sudden revelation rushed through her veins. Erik had deceived her into thinking that he was her father, when he was really just a man that had loved her from the shadows.

Too late to go back now. Her cue had come, and Christine stepped out onto the stage, singing as she waited for something to happen. As she waited for Erik to find her. She longed for and dreaded his appearance. She just couldn't decide which one she felt more of.

* * *

He had been patient, waiting for his time to come. The final scene had started, Christine so close to him. Erik waited backstage, in suit, waiting for Piangi to walk backstage. He would be the final one. Then, the time came. Piangi stepped behind the curtain, and Erik pounced, noose in hand, on him. He died with an effortless, swift tug. It was all for Christine. His heart, his murders, his opera, his life, his lies. All for her.

He stepped onto the stage. She would be his now.

"Passarino, go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey," he said to him. He left the stage, leaving him alone with Christine.

The music had started, and he sang to her. The words with such power came from his lips, enveloping her in his passion. He could see it as he walked across the stage. Her crystal blue eyes wide at the sight of him. He knew she had been expecting him, he could see it also. This was his one chance to take her forever. Take her away from the Vicomte and show her what she truly wanted and needed. When their passions were one, who knew what would come of it.

He knew that he had her in his grasp. She had already succumbed to him, coming back to him as she had. She loved him with all of her heart, she just hadn't realized it yet. They had spent so long pretending that it had all been a dream. A cobweb that they could brush away. But they both knew that they wouldn't be able to. It was impossible for her to turn back. It was impossible for Erik to turn back. They had created so much, and he would not let Christine's thinking destroy all that they had built.

It was too late for asking questions. He walked slowly toward her and grabbed her perfect throat gently. "What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" When he stepped away, he could see that the desire in her eyes was real. Those once innocent eyes were now full of something else. She had felt the music, heard it's messages, and she knew what he meant by every word. Christine knew that it was him behind the mask, and she had finally accepted it.

His music had finally consumed her. She was his. His music had won her over, and she was coming to him. She saw the true man behind the monster, and she was his. His dear Christine. Dear, beautiful Christine.

* * *

She could think of nothing else except his music. Erik. He had come for her. As he stood there, across the stage, she could see those eyes. The passion, the obsession, and the love in those blue eyes. Cold as ice, deep as the sea. He alone could give her all that she had ever wanted. She knew now of the raging love that she held for him that had been smothered beneath her thoughts of Raoul. The passion for the music that they both shared. She had decided.

She had finally been brought there to him, and Christine heard everything in his music. She gave into everything she had thought about him. The man that she had loved was real. She could no longer see the mask. He was Erik, the handsome man that had shared in her emptiness, saved her from her solitude and loved when she was at her worst. He was the passionate man that she loved and couldn't wait to love more. She had waited so long to feel love like that, and she wouldn't wait any longer. Erik was hers, and she wouldn't let him be taken away.

They hadn't been brought together to be torn apart. Christine sang those words with renewed passion, her heart pouring out in those words. They were no longer just lyrics set out for her – they were her true desires, what she truly wanted to feel. She wanted to share her passion with another, let someone else into her world of darkness.

Her body felt as if it were burning, the gaze of his eyes burning her to the core, igniting her frozen heart in a way she had never felt before. The flight of stairs spiraling upwards. The escalation of her ignited soul, finally set free from its frozen prison by this man. The man that she wanted to feel against her, never to leave her side.

They drew closer, singing in their wonderful duet, their voices blending into one, sending notes to the audience, who could not perceive the profound meaning behind them.

His hands grabbed her, softly and yet firmly. It was still part of the opera, but it was real. She felt comfortable in his arms, no longer afraid of the Opera Ghost. She felt so safe from the tormenting world in the warm embrace of his arms. She rested against his chest as his fingers moved through her hair gently.

How could she have ever doubted this fierce, passionate, yet so gentle and romantic man?

She wished that the moment could live forever.

* * *

She was gone. He had little chance of ever getting her back. It was the punishment he got for going with Meg. He had lost Christine to that ghost. The Phantom of the Opera.

He had been drawn to his shaking knees as they ascended the spiraling flaming stairs. He had never Christine like that. He knew only the girl that was pleased by a simple walk in the sunshine. She looked so much more haunted, much more determined. Raoul was immobilized by what he saw. Christine was going willingly to him, once again. He wanted so much to raise his hand and give the signal to shoot, but he couldn't. He couldn't draw his eyes away from the scene that was unfolding on that stage. That monster had gotten her once again.

As much as he was appalled by seeing those two on the stage, seeing the Phantom being anywhere near Christine, he was also in awe. He could see the peace on Christine's face as she was wrapped in his arms. They looked beautiful together, and Raoul felt the tears fill his eyes. He had to get her back. He had done so much to hurt her that had driven her to him. But he still could not move, entranced by their singing, and horrified by it.

He stood there, staring as they stood on the bridge in front of the silent audience. The only sound in the theater was the breathing and the soft movement of the police as they all moved to see what was happening on the stage.

Then, a soft voice came from the bridge, barely audible, but Raoul could make out the soft words that brought terror to his heart.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude," came from the Phantom's mouth. Those were the words that he had proposed to Christine with. The tears that had filled his eyes fell. The Opera Ghost had stolen Christine, and now, his words. It disgusted him. What would lead a man to go so low?

"Say you want me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too," he sang, louder so everyone could hear. Raoul watched as Christine turned to face him, placing one of her slender hands on his masked face, and the Phantom grabbed the other in his hands, singing desperately to Christine: "Christine, that's all I ask of…"

He never said the last word. The theater was filled with shocked gasps and screams. Christine had unmasked the Phantom of the Opera in front of the multitude. Raoul saw a horrible sight. The face was distorted, grotesque. His eye drooped, his skin was covered in horrid, red bumps, his hair was thin and had fallen out on the right side of his face. Raoul's tears fled, and he watched as he grabbed Christine to him and but a rope hanging in front of the bridge.

Raoul heard booming and more screaming from below. He looked up to see that the grand chandelier of the Opera Populaire was falling. Its crystals that illuminated the rooms now became death shards, raining down upon the audience. The friendly candles were now out to catch fire to anything and anyone they could.

When Raoul looked back at the stage, he saw Christine and the Phantom falling downward into the stage, disappearing. He had ignored his chance to take down the Phantom and get Christine back. "No!" he shouted. He could barely think over the screaming and chaos that went on down below. He needed to get to Christine and the Phantom as fast as he could. If he didn't find her soon, he would lose her forever. But who would know where he hid in the opera house?

Madame Giry. Raoul didn't have time to run back through the stairs, and he wouldn't fight his way through the panicking public. He grabbed one of the drapes beside Box Five and slid down quickly. He ran to the stage, now engulfed in the flames of the chandelier. The heat grew unbearably as he drew closer, but he ignored it, heading for the backstage, where Madame Giry no doubt was, helping people out of the theater.

Raoul ran through the flames that were quickly consuming the wood of the stage, the velvet curtains, the hundreds of seats that filled the theater, quickly turning the entire Opera Populaire into a burning madhouse. He heard the pitiful cries of Carlotta as she knelt over Piangi's dead body. He had been killed by the noose.

"Oh my God!" cried out Carlotta. "Piangi, my love. Mi amore." He could not stop for her. He had to think of Christine.

Raoul followed the fleeing crowd further into the house and saw the classic black dress that Madame Giry always wore. He needed to know where he had taken her. All of their lives were on the line.

"Where did he take her?" he shouted to Madame Giry, grabbing her arm as she ran, stopping her. Giry only stopped for a second, taking in his face before she grabbed his hand and started running beside him.

"Come with me, monsieur, I will take you to him," she said, leading him away. "But, remember, your hand at the level of your eyes!"

"But why?" asked Raoul. He had heard her say that before.

"The Punjab lasso monsieur," she said, her voice rising in despair, "First Buquet, now Piangi, oh my God!"

Meg ran up beside them, and Raoul looked toward her. Meg. "I'll come with you," she said, grabbing Raoul's arm. He wouldn't let her come. He loved Christine, but he couldn't risk Meg getting hurt.

"No, Meg!" he said, ripping away from her grip, leaving her behind. "Stay here!"

"Come with me, monsieur," said Giry. "Do as I say!"

Raoul followed her through the opera house feverishly, fearing what lay ahead for him. He hoped that he could find Christine before it was too late.


	15. Down Once More

Hey everybody! I'm sad to say that this is the last chapter…but don't worry, there will be more, and I'm trying to come up with ideas for a sequel, which might take a while for me to get in writing. I appreciate everybody reading, and I appreciate your encouragement. I was thinking about splitting this into two chapters, but I didn't, so it's pretty long.

ENJOY!

* * *

**Down Once More**

**D**own further beneath the opera house once more they went. He knew his spell was broken. Christine had seen him with no cover. She had finally unmasked the Phantom of the Opera in his entirety. She had chosen, and now she resisted, pulling him, trying to slow him in vain.

Down through the tunnels below the Opera House, Christine struggling behind. One last time to the dungeon that held his deep despair, the cavernous lair that had become the prison he was trapped in, separated from the world above. The stone paths that led to his personal hell. The stone faces that mocked and ridiculed him as they ran by, their grey eyes laughing.

He rounded on Christine, and she ran into him. "Why you ask was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place? Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!"

Erik could see the fear that now filled Christine's face as they made their was, heading toward the lake. She had been so content a few moments before, now she was struggling against him. She had chosen, and she couldn't go back. The woman who had understood him was turning away. His dear Christine, his angel who had sung and written such beautiful words was fleeing from him, because of his face.

They reached the lake, and they entered the boat. Christine had calmed, but he could feel her fear in the air. As he pushed the gondola feverishly to his lair, Christine shifted uneasily, rocking the boat, but still said nothing.

As the lair grew closer, the collection of his work grew visible, Christine spoke softly, her voice quiet.

"Why? After all of this…why?" she said. She wanted to know why? The boat landed on the shore with a hard jolt, and he jumped out, grabbing Christine and dragging her with him, up towards his organ.

"Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere," he said, stopping and grabbing her perfect head in his hands, making her look into his eyes. "No kind words from anyone, no compassion anywhere. Christine, why?"

They stood there for a moment, Erik looking into Christine's eyes. He saw pity, compassion, and still a hint of that fear. She had to understand the pain that he felt. Now, after they had shared so much, she dared to turn away? His angel had to understand.

He followed closely behind Madame Giry, not wanting to lose sight of her as they went through the damp, worn, spiraling stair that led down below the Opera House. He pulled ahead of her and the torch that lit the dim stairs, feverishly making his way down the stair as fast as he could without falling. The Opera Populaire was lowly burning, and Christine was down below with that monster.

Suddenly, Madame Giry stopped, and Raoul turned to look at her. She was looking over the side into the black pit that led to the very bottom, the dungeons of the Opera House. "This is as far as I dare go," she said. So he was on his own now. He nodded to her.

"Thank you," he said. He took one last look down and took off down the stairs. He needed to get to Christine before something happened to her. Despite his betrayal, he found now that he truly loved her. His dear Christine, his childhood sweetheart. He stripped off his scarf and jacket, leaving them behind in the tunnel.

He kept going down and down the seemingly never-ending stair, when something happened. The ground gave way beneath his feet, and he let out as a gasp as he fell. He fell into what seemed like a pit of ice. The water chilled him to the bone, taking his breath away. He came up, gasping for breath. He took a quick glance around, taking in the damp, mossy walls that lined the pit, and the doorway that was to be his escape. He swam towards it, but then he heard a tremendous creaking above him. He looked up and saw a steel grate descending upon him quickly.

Raoul's breathing grew faster as he looked for something to make it stop. Nothing. He looked down in the water, and saw a wheel attached to some sort of mechanism. He took a deep breath, and dove down, reaching the wheel and trying to turn it, but it was rusted. His heart grew loud in his ears as he used all of his strength to try and turn the wheel. It wouldn't budge. He couldn't hold his breath any longer.

The grate was just high enough so that he could get one last breath – maybe the last breath of his life. He took the air greedily and dove down once again to the wheel, and grasped it, bracing himself against the walls of the pit. He had to get out of there to save Christine. He pulled, his breath growing short, his heart pounding harder and harder and the stored oxygen in his lungs ran low. He could hardly stand the urge to breath anymore, and he gave one last jerk.

The wheel slammed his direction as the mechanism triggered, pulling the chain that allowed the grate to rise again. Raoul swam up and gasped for air, his lungs burning. He swam to the doorway and climbed out of the water, soaking wet from head to toe as he walked through the tunnels, the only thought on his mind was trying to save Christine.

* * *

What had she done? What fate had she condemned herself to? She had never seen him so malevolent and grievous. She pitied him now. Felt sorry for the horrible life that he had to live, how he had to live day by day and see that tragic face, how Erik had to live in the shadows, kept away from the world that had rejected him.

His eyes full of such sadness, despair, and longing. He had shown her the dress he wore before, when she had first come down to his lair, and she had never realized what a marvel it was. It was perfectly white, lace trimming and off-the-shoulder silk sleeves. It fit her like a glove, perfectly fit to her body.

She didn't want to upset him. Erik had seen enough pain in his life, and he didn't need any from her. He had begun the process of burning her life, her home, to the ground. Her cheeks were streaked with fallen tears, her eyes large and glazed, but she no longer looked afraid as she had. Her eyes strayed from her reflection and settled on something beside it.

It was a drawing of her, sitting in the chapel at the piano, no doubt playing. The details were amazing, and it took her breath away at how real, yet surreal it was. She was there, really playing the piano, but the shadows were morphed into shapes and faces, watching her. She noticed that there was a black ribbon in her hair and a lone rose sitting on the piano. His whole life was truly dedicated to her and his music.

She vaguely remembered the room with the swan bed. She turned and saw the small music box. The small monkey that had been perched on top that played the symbols. She approached the small table and saw the petals that she had given him so long ago. And on the other side of them was her notebook. "All Falls Silent."

Christine walked back toward Erik, and the mannequin that had once worn her dress. He stood down below, admiring something in his hands. What had they all done? She had loved two men, Raoul had loved her, and so had Erik, all of them condemned for the same crime. Love. But Erik, he had gone so far as to kill two men, and now burning down her home to get her and win her over. Why? Christine went cold. She needed to force the answers out of him. She needed to know why.

"Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?" she said, approaching him slowly. "Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?"

Erik looked up at her, something that she couldn't recognize filled his face, quickly replaced by the sadness that she could hardly bear to see. "That fate which condemns me to wallow in blood has also denied me the joys of the flesh," he said, coming closer to her. Christine didn't draw away, but stood her ground. Erik reached out and touched her cheek gently. "This face, the infection which poisons our love. This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing. A mask, my first cold, unfeeling scrap of clothing."

Christine's eyes filled with tears unseen to Erik as he turned to the mannequin and grabbed the bridal veil from it, holding it in his hands, progressing slowly back towards her. He had been shunned by everyone, including his own family because of the face that he was born with. The face that she had once forgotten how to see. He had been trapped in this opera house, no doubt, for years and couldn't show his face to the world. The only way he could ever show the world who he was was through his music.

The veil was placed roughly on top of her head, and she listened carefully to Erik's words, trying to find a way to respond. "Pity comes too late," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, and turning her to him, forcing her to look at the tears that fell down those cheeks. One of her own tears fell. "You must turn around to face your fate, with an eternity of _this_ before your eyes."

Erik took her hand and placed a ring in it. She looked down at admired it. Where had he gotten it from? Its many diamonds glittered in the light that reflected off of the lake. It was beautiful, but was it just him trying to buy her love back knowing that he had destroyed her home? She didn't put it on immediately, but walked away from Erik and towards one of the mirrors that lined the walls. She pulled away the sheet that covered it and spoke to him quietly.

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now," she said, looking back towards him. "It's in your soul that the true distortion lies."

* * *

Erik couldn't stand to come under her burning glaze anymore. He turned away, his hopes shattered as Christine rejected him, seeing now only the monster that was portrayed by the face that she had seen. He looked around, seeing his home that he had been trapped in that had once felt so lonely, but then she had come, and he had felt whole for once in his life. Accepted by another, but that had changed. His love was turning against him, despite all that he did for her, she rejected him.

Then, a sound came to his ears. Splashing in the distance. He looked out beyond the large metal gate, and saw a figure wading through the water towards the lair, soaked all over. The Vicomte. It was all his fault. He turned to Christine, a twisted smile on his face as a plan popped into his mind.

"Wait, my dear," he said. "I believe we have a guest. Sir – "

"Raoul?" said his angel from behind, seeing the Vicomte also. It was time for her to decide, once and for all. This was the final battle.

"This is indeed," said Erik, continuing, "an unparalleled delight. I had rather hoped that you had come. Indeed, dear sir, you have truly made my night." Erik laughed as he grabbed Christine to him. It was his time to pay for all the pain that he had caused them all.

"Free her!" pleaded the Vicomte, helplessly grasping at the bars of the gate. Erik released Christine from his grasp and stood, watching the pathetic patron plead at his mercy. "Let her go! What are you doing? Have you no pity?"

"Your lover makes a passionate plea," said Erik to Christine who stood beside him, watching the Vicomte. It was entertaining to watch him there, praying that he could get his dear Christine back. He could, and wouldn't. She was in the hands of the Phantom of the Opera. The man who loved her.

"Please, Raoul," said Christine, "Please, don't do this."

"I love her!" shouted the Vicomte. "I love her with everything I am, and does that mean nothing? Show some compassion –"

"Compassion?" snarled Erik furiously. "The world has shown no compassion to me!"

"Please," said the Vicomte, his chin quivering from the chill of the water, "Let me see her."

The plan was set. Erik walked to the top of the stairs and pulled the lever that controlled the gate. It moved upward slowly, and he proceeded down the stairs and slowly into the lake as the Vicomte moved under the gate into the lair.

"Monsieur, I bid you a fond welcome," said Erik, slipping into the cold water, drawing closer to the Vicomte. Closer to his revenge that hid under the water. "Did you truly think that I could harm her? Tell me, why would I make her pay for the sins which are yours?"

The gate shut behind the Vicomte, and he turned to see what it was, giving Erik the perfect opportunity to get him. He reached down below the water and felt the rope of the lasso that he had hidden in the water so long ago. As the Vicomte stood facing the gate, he threw it out, casting it perfectly around the Vicomte's neck. Erik threw him against the gate with all of his now burning rage. He tied him tightly to the gate, restricting all his movement. When he struggled, Erik shoved his shoulders back, forcing him to hit his head on the steel.

"Go and order your fine horses now!" he taunted him, tying the knots that held the Vicomte down. "Keep your hands at the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now – except perhaps, for Christine!"

* * *

Such an infantile movement had cost him perhaps his life. He struggled against the Phantom, but could not fight against the pure hatred that he was. He tried as he could to get out of the ropes that bound him tightly to the gate, but he was thrown back, pain shooting through the back of his head. He was delirious for a moment, and came back to his senses when he saw the horrible face so close to his, snarling at him, throwing twisted laughs and words in his face.

He was trapped, helpless in the hands of the Phantom of the Opera. He couldn't move. Raoul's eyes followed the Phantom as he moved away, listening closely to the words that he said the Christine.

"Either you start a new life with me," he shouted, his voice growing rough and deep, "And he is allowed to go free. But refuse me to go with him, and you send him to his death! This is the choice! _This is the point of no return_!"

That was no choice! Raoul looked to Christine as she stood high above the water, looking down at them both. He could see the tears that coursed down her cheeks. He was truly a monster. He couldn't force Christine to love him by making her his prisoner, and he not could make her love him by killing him.

"So long ago, I would have shed tears for your dark fate," said Christine, facing the Phantom. "But now, they seem to grow cold and turn to the tears of hate."

Raoul had to watch helplessly as Christine stood pleading and the Phantom walked to grab the rope of the lasso that he should have avoided. He had no way of helping Christine. There was no way that he could save her from this monster.

"Christine, dear Christine," he pled to her, hoping that she would hear him. "Please forgive me. I did everything for you, and in vain. All of this wasted. You can't let him do this! I love you!"

Tears sprang to his eyes as he was ignored by Christine, who spoke only to the Phantom. He struggled wildly, but he still couldn't move as the ties that bound him grew tighter with every passing moment, his breathing growing labored. It had been all his fault. If only he had given the signal to have him shot, if only he had spent more time with her. It was too late for going back.

He was trapped, and the only way out was through the choice of Christine. She was lying to the Phantom to save him. To get him out. Christine could never love this monster. She really loved him. Loved him enough to go with the Phantom to ensure his safety. His life depended upon her choice. Either he left alone, or dead.

* * *

She couldn't believe that he had done this to her. Trapped Raoul, and forced her to make such a decision. Christine followed Erik with her eyes, watching as he progressed toward the lasso that he was taking down to Raoul. So she saw the true Phantom. What had happened to him? She knew that somewhere beneath this murdering man was the man that she loved. Couldn't he himself see that? She had to make him see.

"Erik, when will you finally see truth?" she asked him as he fiercely turned and plunged back once more into the water to Raoul. "We had such hopes, and now those hopes are shattering. Why are you doing this to me?"

She was shaking horribly from seeing him like that, and seeing her dear friend in such despair. She knew that he loved her, but she found still that she still loved him as a friend. Erik had escalated it to so much more than that. She heard his threats and Raoul's pleas as the noose was beginning to tighten around her own neck.

"It's too late for prayers and useless pity," said Erik, growing ever closer to Raoul with the noose. "It's too late to go back, too late to change what you've done. You can't fight any longer, can't cry for help. Anyway you choose, you cannot win this game. End your days with me, or you send him to his grave!"

Behind him, Christine could make out the words of Raoul. He cries were growing more hysterical as Erik moved nearer. "Christine, don't let him! You can't let this monster tear us apart. If you say you love him, my life is over. Anyway you choose, he has to win!" Christine flinched as the noose was placed around his neck, and Erik pulled it mercilessly, taunting her, forcing her to choose.

"Why make her lie to you to save me?" said Raoul. Christine wouldn't lie to Erik about what she felt. Raoul was deluding him, making Erik think that she was lying. Did Raoul think that she loved him, not Erik? Did he truly believe that she was lying to Erik to save him?

She found it harder to breathe in as tears flooded her eyes as she tried to force Erik once more to see what he was doing.

"Erik, who truly deserves this?" she asked him as he held the rope of the noose. "When will you see reason? My Angel of Music, will you trust me? I gave you my heart fully."

"You try my patience," said Erik, hearing only the thoughts in his mind, not fully hearing her words. "Make your choice."

So it was. Which man would she destroy for her happiness?

* * *

He held the rope tight in his hands, ready to pull at Christine's word. His hands burned as the fibers of the rope drove into his skin. It was her choice now, the Vicomte's fate held in her hands.

She could delay no longer. It was time for her to make her choice. He could hear the beating of his racing heart and ragged breathing in the silence. It seemed forever that the silence lasting, his love making her choice. He couldn't move his eyes away from her tear-streaked face. He saw her shake her head and then slowly met his eyes.

The eyes that he had fallen in love with. His heart began to race faster as his angel walked down into the frigid water toward him. Could she have really chosen him over the Vicomte? But why? Doubts flooded his mind as she resolutely made her way towards him. Could the Vicomte have been right? Could she just be lying to him to save the Vicomte's life?

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you you are not alone."

The Vicomte's words echoed in his mind. "Why make her lie to you to save me?" His beautiful Christine in his wedding dress, coming closer. Could she really lie to him?

Erik's hands loosened from the rope unconsciously. Something had changed in that moment. Christine had changed as she grew closer. Her face had darkened, the lake casting an ethereal glow on her cheeks, and she seemed to change into a dark beauty. The beauty that he had seen in the darkness had finally taken shape in the day.

He saw her slip on the ring that he had given her. His proposal ring. Then, happiness for the first time in his life. Christine's soft lips touched his wit ha passion that he had wanted to feel. All the passion of their lives spilled out into that one kiss. The warmth of their breath entwined was the warmth that he had wanted to feel from the world for his music. The compassion and empathy that he had only found from Christine, whom he had deceived to be near.

That one blissful moment ended, and tears burst out from him. Tears of happiness and joy, but also of pity. For her. She had never deserved to be with him. He was disfigured. She needed to be with someone that could give her all she needed and deserved. Erik looked one last time through his own tears into those piercing blue eyes that had been his light in his darkness. Raoul was right. She didn't need to lie to save him. He didn't need anymore blood on his hands for her. It was over.

He had lost her.

* * *

He stared in horror as Christine drew even closer to the Phantom, never casting a glance toward him. Was she taking a final, extreme step to achieve his freedom? Or did she truly love this murderer over him?

When she reached forward and kissed the Phantom, Raoul felt as though all of his efforts to save her had failed. Would his Christine go through such a deception to save him? Tears once more flooded his eyes as he watched them embrace with a passion that he could feel crushed inside his heart.

As he stood there, still pinned against the steel gate, he noticed something. There on Christine's finger was a diamond engagement ring. She was not supposed to wear a ring. Had the Phantom proposed to her and she accepted with that kiss? He had heard no other words passed between them. What had happened?

Raoul heard the crackling of flames growing in the distance and heard shouting accompanying it. He could make out some of the enraged screams growing closer, coming down towards them.

"This murderer must be found!" "Who is this monster!" "Hang him like he hung Buquet!"

Raoul began to understand why he was the way he was. The two had finally separated, and Christine stood there, smiling weakly through shining tears at the Phantom. Disfigured and scarred no only physically, but mentally, trapped in a cage for his childhood, considered a freak, this was the one place where he would not be threatened by the judgment of those around him. Christine had been the only one who saw his pain and understood it. Raoul understood his longing for love, but Christine wouldn't go with him.

Raoul was ecstatic when the Phantom turned away from Christine. His face grievous, the good side twisted in pain, tears flowing freely as he shoved Christine towards him, pushing her through the lake.

So, the Phantom had come to his senses and accepted the fact that he would live alone. He sighed in relief. He waited for Christine to rush to his arms and set him free.

Raoul waited. He opened his eyes to see Christine untying his right hand and she took the noose off of his neck. Raoul searched her face for relief, but never found it. Her eyes were sad, more tears flowing down her sweet face.

"Oh Christine," sighed Raoul. "I'm so glad you're back. We have to go."

"I can't," said Christine.

What?

* * *

That kiss had been the best moment of her life. It had at once turned to one of her worst. He hadn't believed her words. Raoul had convinced him that she was lying. Seeing those tears of pain flowing down Erik' face made her realize how much that Erik had truly cared for her, and how much she cared for him in return.

Her spirit had once more soared while she had been with him. In that moment she had felt as one with him as when they sang together. She listened and watched closely as she was shoved away him, water splashing about her. She stood and watched as her love fell into a deep despair, painful tears streaming down his face.

Christine stood, immobilized as she watched Erik walk up the stairs and shout back to them.

"Go! Take her and forget all of this! Just leave me alone, forget all you've seen! Don't let them find you! Swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the Angel in Hell!"

The voice that had been so calm and beautiful was twisted into painful sobs as Erik moved with such labor away from her. He stopped to look back at her standing there.

"Why are you waiting? Go now! Go now and leave me!"

Christine turned, shaking, toward Raoul. Her childhood friend and sweetheart. The boy who had ran into the sea to fetch her scarf. He never deserved to die, despite what he had done to hurt her. She walked toward him in the high water and took the noose off of his neck. She fumbled with the rope on his hand. Her hands shook as controlled sobs racked through her body.

Finally, when she had finished , Raoul spoke: "Oh, Christine," he sighed. "I'm so glad you're back. We have to go."

Christine shook her head weakly as she looked into his brown eyes. "I can't," she said. She couldn't bear to look into his eyes. She started to walk toward the lair, the organ that she had been amazed by the first time she saw it.

"Christine!" shouted Raoul from behind her. She stepped on shore and turned around to face him. He was working feverishly to free himself from the binding ropes, his eyes flashing up at her. "Wait! What are you doing?"

Christine smiled at Raoul as he continued to struggle. After all of this, he had to understand why she had to do this. He was going to know why she needed Erik and couldn't go with him.

"Raoul," she said, her voice steady and determined. "I'm going with him. He'll die if I don't go with him –"

"I'll die if you go with him!" shouted Raoul as his other hand came free.

"You'll die!" said Christine, her voice rising slightly. "I'll die! Raoul, you were and always will be my friend. But you never understood my music. You never understood why I needed to write. He dd. He understood. He cared and listened."

"I cared! I still do!" said Raoul, freeing his torso. Christine knew that he loved her, and still did. Christine held her ground firmly.

"Then show me," said Christine. "He loved me enough to let me go with you. If you love me enough, let me go with him."

* * *

She deserved much more from life than to be trapped in the dark with him. She deserved to be happy with Raoul. He had been right. She had only lied to save his life. Christine could never care for a man with such a hideous face as his.

He sat in front of his small stand that his music box sat on. It played its soft melody as he looked at the gleeful monkey clapping the small golden cymbals together.

"Masquerade…paper faces on parade," he sang softly, thinking how true those words were for him, "Masquerade…hide your face so the world will never find you."

He had once thought that Christine would see passed his face. She would have been the only one in his entire life that had seen the real him. After spending years in a circus, labeled a freak of nature, tormented by all who saw him, Christine had been the one. She had seen his soul, shared in his emptiness and loneliness. Now she was gone. Off with the Vicomte to live a happy life.

As he sat, he felt a presence behind him, along with the growing sound of crackling flames. He turned around and his heart exploded. There stood Christine, in the doorway of his room. Her beautiful blue eyes stared at him in the dim light, the fresh tears falling down her cheeks. His dear Angel had come back. But why? And had she come to stay?

As she walked closer, he noticed that she still had his ring on. The beautiful ring that he had gotten her for their engagement. He looked at her beautiful face, taking in the woman that had been his life, and would continue to be for the rest of his life. His dear Christine.

She walked slowly toward him, and it took all the strength he had not to burst out into more tears as she approached, his hopes soaring that for maybe one time, he would be happy. As she drew closer, his heart beat faster as faster, the anticipation growing. She was beautiful, so ethereal in this time, he thought her to only be a dream.

Her pale hand reached out and touched the leather of the notebook that she had given him. Her opera. Her hand slid across the cover in such a smooth and ghostly manner, but her hand reached up to touch his face, and he felt it. He closed his eyes and savored her touch, cold as it was, for as long as he could.

"You must go," he said, the words coming out with the greatest effort. "They are coming."

He heard nothing, but felt the caress of Christine's lips on his once more. It felt wonderful, the sensation that he would carry with him forever. He opened his eyes and saw that Christine was still standing in front of him, staring down at him with those eyes. Her mouth was pulled into a slight smile, and she grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Come, we must go quickly," she said. She looked around the room one last time and he watched as she grabbed her leather notebook and hugged it to her chest. What was she doing? Did she truly want to come with him? Leave the world she had known before and finally be with him? "We must hurry before they find us. Hurry."

She did. Erik sighed with relief, but they had to leave their homes, find a way to start over. He looked to his small table one last time. There now sat his mask. The one that he no longer needed to hide from the world. He no longer needed to hide from Christine. And his music box. He needed neither.

They walked out into the cavern, and he could catch a glimpse of the Vicomte poling away from them in the gondola. He held Christine's hand tightly as she followed behind, fearing that she would leave him again, and made his way to one of his mirrors. He uncovered it, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

He still saw the deformity, but it wasn't as horrible as he had once thought. Yes, there was a man who had been disfigured, tortured, and ridiculed, but in his eyes was a completely transformed musician. His eyes were bright, practically smiling as he searched for the spring that opened the mirror. He found it on the left side, just above the middle of the mirror. It swung open, and Christine went in front of him. He made sure the curtain fell back down and the mirror swung closed.

He was finally going home.

* * *

They walked through the dark tunnels behind the mirror quickly. Christine led the way, the man of her dreams guiding her from behind, her hand sitting comfortably in his. His voice was soft and gentle as he guided her. It was the voice that she had fallen in love with. She clutched her leather bound book to her chest. Christine wouldn't dare part with it. It was too much a part of who she was, and who they were as a whole.

Finally, Christine saw a light growing in front of her. She headed for it, and crossed the threshold into the cold Daae Tomb. She saw her father's concrete casket sat in front of her, and she stopped to admire it. She remembered the day of his burial. This was her final goodbye. She had achieved her dreams, and so much more. The great Gustave Daae had kept his promise of an angel.

"Come, we must move quickly," said the angel, tugging her hand toward the stairs that led up to the cemetery. She followed behind, tears falling now for her father. She wished he could see her for one time.

They came up in the cemetery, and walked away from the tomb. Christine could see the spiraling smoke coming from the direction of the Opera House. She looked one last time at her father's grave and remembered:

"I never knew your name," she said to her angel.

"You know my name," he said, turning to her and placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"But how? What is it?" she asked.

"Erik."


End file.
